


Sansa Stark and the Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater

by OrangeTabby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Infidelity, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Knitting, Loss of Virginity, Mild Kink, Modern Westeros, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: Sansa Stark just wants to express her love and affection through the knitting of high-quality handmade items.Why do her relationships keep ending every time she does that?A story about relationships, sex, and handicrafts.(SanSan endgame)Please note: soothingly mild summaries of the preceding chapter will be provided at the start of chapters 2, 3 and 4 for readers who feel more comfortable skipping a particular paring but would still like to read the story as a whole.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 390
Kudos: 552





	1. The Joffrey Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> The ‘sweater curse’ is used amongst the knitting community to describe the belief that making someone a sweater (a long and involved process which could take, for an adult sized item, anywhere between 20 and 100 hours of work) will lead to them breaking up with you, either during the process or shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Joffrey Sweater pattern](https://www.berroco.com/patterns/larry)
> 
> Chapter 1 Sansa is far younger and more clueless than I usually write her, but she will of course mature considerably over the course of the story. I’ve made her eighteen to start with, but she’s a sheltered and immature eighteen. 
> 
> I’m going to put a specific warning at the end of the chapter around Joffrey’s behaviour (which is far less terrible than in canon, more in line with him being a complete jerk rather than a sadistic killer), so if you want details please skip to there first.
> 
> Shoutout to [ Katinka31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/%20Katinka31/pseuds/%20Katinka31) who mentioned the boyfriend sweater curse in a comment on ‘The Luckiest Man in the Whole F***ing World’ and sparked the idea for this story!

Sansa Stark lovingly stroked the sweater pattern she’d found online and printed out. “He’ll love it!”

Mock turtleneck. Garter stitch panels across the chest. Sexy rib cuffs and a form fitting design. What wasn’t to love?

“Don’t you think, Sansa,” Catelyn Stark said delicately, “that knitting such a large project might wait until further on in the relationship? I was engaged to your father before I made anything that time consuming for him. And before you get ideas, you are only in high school. No engagements please, at least until you have finished university. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

Sansa knew with absolute certainty that Joffrey Baratheon was the boy for her. He was the son of her dad’s best childhood friend! Their relationship was fate. Destiny. Absolutely perfect. He was perfect.

They’d had a wonderful holiday romance. Kissing in the hot pools. Making out in the Godswood. Snogging in the crypts. Smooching in the guest tower.

Sansa had cried for days after he and his family went home to Kings Landing, leaving her behind in the boring old North.

“He’s not going to want a sweater you knitted for him,” said Arya, frowning. “That’s a lame present.”

“You liked the hat I knitted for you with the wolf motif,” Sansa retorted.

Arya’s frown deepened. “Hats are different. Sweaters imply a whole fucking commitment, he’ll freak out.”

“ARYA STARK DO NOT USE THAT LANGUAGE IN MY HOUSE,” said Catelyn, scowling at Arya. “And girls, please stop bickering. You know it gives your father a headache.”

“But I met Joffrey through Dad. He’s part of this.”

Catelyn, Sansa and Arya all swivelled as one to gaze at Ned Stark, who sat at the kitchen table enjoying a coffee.

“What do you think, dear?” asked Catelyn.

Ned blanched in the face of a wall of female scrutiny. “I promised Rickon I’d finish fixing up the treehouse,” he said, abandoning his coffee and disappearing outside.

Sansa huffed at her father’s lack of enthusiasm.

Joffrey was so sexy. He looked so much like his famous Uncle Jaime. She, boring old Sansa Stark, was dating the nephew of a movie star! Joff would love a special hand knitted gift, she knew for certain.

He said he would come back and visit soon. She was off to university next year and wanted to finish high school with a bang.

Perhaps even literally.

She was sick and tired of being the only virgin in her group of friends. It was ridiculous, she had recently turned eighteen years old and was now in danger of being Left on the Shelf. Her friends all patronisingly said she should wait for the right guy. It was all right for them. Boys didn’t seem to be scared of them.

“You don’t need to worry,” Sansa said. “I can buy the wool with some money I earned babysitting. I’m sure Robb or Jon will drive me to the store.”

Catelyn sighed. “It’s your time and money, but remember, a sweater is a big commitment.”

***

Her relationship with Joffrey became, of necessity, a long distance one. That was okay though, because it enabled her to knit the sweater in secret. Every free evening, she sat in the living room with her family and frantically knitted while they watched movies or the news. She endured taunts from Arya, polite bafflement from Jon and scepticism from Robb. Bran seemed bewildered by her relationship with her beloved Joff, and Rickon said that giving him a hand knitted present was weird. Sansa persevered because love transcended all difficulties, even when Shaggydog stole a ball of the wonderful, locally produced wool she had bought for the project. She’d picked out the yarn dyed a stunning forest green, to bring out the colour in Joff’s eyes, though that one ball was never quite the same after Shaggydog’s saliva got all over it. She didn’t have enough money to buy more of such a high quality yarn, so she incorporated the slightly off-colour wool into the garter stitch panels on the sweater. It was barely noticeable. She called it an avant-garde stripe.

Sansa and Joffrey messaged each other all the time, except on weekend nights when he was always busy. Sansa assumed that he was probably studying.

He’d asked Sansa to send nudes of herself, but she hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of doing that. Of course, Joffrey had understood after she said ‘No’ a few times. He was such a gentleman.

His father Robert had finally organised for his family to visit Winterfell during the last half-term break before school finished for the year, and Joffrey was coming too. The news of an impending visit from her boyfriend spurred Sansa on to finish the sweater, so she could give it to him when they saw each other in person again.

He kissed her in front of everyone when they arrived. She kissed him back, but stopped when the gagging noises Arya and Rickon made in the background became a bit too embarrassing.

They had the chance to become lovers, to seal their relationship, when both the families travelled for a day trip to Torrhen’s Square. Joffrey stayed behind, pleading a headache. Sansa offered to stay so she could take care of him.

It was the moment of privacy she’d been waiting for! She would offer herself to him, and they could connect on a physical and spiritual level. She would give him her gift, and he would understand how much he meant to her, that they were destined to be as one.

She gave him the sweater when they went to her bedroom.

“Why is this bit a different colour?” he asked, fingering the garter stitch stripe of dog-damaged yarn.

“It’s a wool accent,” Sansa said, only fudging the truth slightly. “They are all the rage in the fashion houses of Braavos.”

He seemed to like the sweater more after she said that.

He said thanks in between bouts of trying to grope her breasts, anyway.

They made out for a while on her bed, before Sansa shyly suggested she’d be up for taking their relationship to the next level.

His beautiful green eyes lit up. “Okay, strip,” he said, grinning and looking her up and down. “I want to see your tits. Finally.”

Sansa sat up, confused that Joffrey seemed more interested in the prospect of her breasts than on connecting with their souls. “What?”

Joffrey regarded her. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” replied Sansa, a little puzzled as to why he asked that.

Joffrey shrugged. “You’re legal. I’m legal. So then, strip. That’s how it’s done.”

Sansa bit her bottom lip. “I thought it would be more romantic,” she said quietly.

He took her hand and gave her a big smile. “You love me, don’t you?”

Sansa smiled back. He was so handsome. Nothing like his gross father Robert. “Yes. I knitted you the sweater to show that.”

He glanced briefly at the sweater that he had tossed on the end of the bed. “Of course you did. Well, let’s show our love. I’ll make it good for you, baby.”

He pulled off his jeans, but kept his shirt and underpants on.

He lounged back on the pillows and smiled encouragingly at her.

Did he expect her to do a strip tease? That felt a bit beyond her comfort zone. Sansa hopped out of bed and started pulling her clothes off in the normal way. She’d worn a cute red knee length dress and matching lacy white bra and underpants just for him.

Joffrey watched her unblinkingly, but he seemed happy enough.

“That’s it, baby,” he said. “Looking good.”

Emboldened by his words, she quickly stripped naked and climbed back onto the bed with him. She leaned in to kiss him. She was, at least, confident with that.

He stroked his hand down her body, cupping her breast. That felt good. Really good. Different to when she touched herself, but nice.

She moaned quietly as she kissed him.

“Nice tits,” he murmured.

Joff unexpectedly pinched her nipple hard and she jumped and squeaked with pain. He got more enthusiastic then, shoving his tongue in her mouth. He smoothed his hand over her sore nipple and that felt nice, so she let it go. It seemed most likely he didn’t realise how rough he’d been. 

He slipped his hand suddenly between her legs and she stiffened in surprise, not expecting him to touch her there quite so soon.

His fingers poked around a bit, and she tried to be turned on, but for some reason she had some trouble.

“Maybe a little gentler,” she said nervously, not wanting to put him off.

“You should wax down there,” he said, frowning slightly. “There’s no way to find your clit unless you don’t have hair. Everyone knows that.”

Sansa had, in fact, trimmed down there earlier that morning, so it wasn’t like her, um, lady garden was out of control. She’d also never had any trouble finding her clit herself. Possibly it was different for boys? Perhaps they needed to be able to see and feel everything clearly.

She loved Joffrey. This was an important moment in their relationship. One day they’d be able to look back and laugh fondly about any awkwardness.

He slipped a finger inside of her. At least he managed to locate that area okay.

Sansa mentally berated herself for being uncharitable. She reached down to rub the bulge at the front of his underpants. He was hard, so she must be doing something right. She rubbed him as he slid his fingers in and out of her.

It was actually quite pleasurable. She moaned and he responded in kind.

“Alright, let’s fuck,” said Joffrey, stopping the motions of his fingers just as she was really enjoying it.

Sansa sat up to catch her breath. “I bought some condoms.”

Joffrey made a gesture of dismissal. “We don’t need those, I can pull out.”

“That doesn’t always work,” said Sansa. She didn’t want to sound whiney or ungrateful, but her school had a comprehensive sex education programme and she was well aware of the risks around sex.

“Well, take the Morning-After Pill then. It’s easy enough to get over the counter at the chemist.”

Sansa didn’t want to disappoint Joffrey, but this was too risky.

She swallowed and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, condom or nothing.”

Joffrey turned bright red. “You can’t get me turned on like this and leave it. It hurts, Sansa. You can’t leave me like this, you’ll damage me.”

Sansa felt like the worst person in the world, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry Joff, condom or nothing.”

Joffrey groaned loudly. “Fine. Fine! But it won’t be any good for me. It’ll be all about you.”

She smiled at him, though she had to admit he was being a little ungracious, and tugged his underwear down his legs. He huffed and lifted his hips to help her.

She sat back on her heels and regarded him.

She thought his penis would be bigger.

It was bright pink and angry looking, with a nest of dark blond hair at the base. She’d seen photos of men with erections, and once even watched a pornographic film that Beth Cassell had recommended, though she’d had to turn it off because it had been too rough and off-putting. The men she’d seen were probably just extreme examples, and erect penises were supposed to be that much smaller size.

She gasped, realising the silence had gone on for too long.

“Oh it’s very nice,” she said, not wanting Joffrey to feel bad.

“Just roll the condom on,” he said in a strained voice.

The last and only time Sansa had done this, they’d been in Health Class and it had been to a banana. She’d handled it too roughly and to her utter mortification the banana had broken. Jeyne Poole had cried from laughing so hard.

She thought this was probably not the best time to tell Joff that story.

Sansa pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it, very carefully, down his shaft.

“Okay,” she said, smiling as she lay down beside him.

This was it. She was going to lose her virginity and cement her love for Joffrey as an adult.

He positioned himself on top of her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to be close to her lover.

“Don’t grab me,” he grumbled. “I need to concentrate.”

He fumbled a bit with her lady parts, clearly trying to find her entrance again.

The condom probably made it much harder for him. Sansa felt bad once more but reminded herself of the important of contraception. She should have gone on the Pill or gotten an IUD or something when she found out they’d be seeing each other in person.

Joffrey finally gave a huff of triumph, lined himself up, and shoved his way into her.

It hurt.

It hurt more than she’d expected.

“Relax,” he ground out and Sansa realised her entire body had stiffened up.

“Sorry,” she whispered. She consciously tried to relax each part of her body, particularly her stinging womanly parts. Sansa realised too late that she’d forgotten to put a towel down and they were on top of her bedspread. She suspected from the pain that there might be blood.

She breathed out long and slow through her nose. The pain would go away soon, then it would be good.

The experience got marginally better as Joff thrust and grunted away on top of her. Her pain eased right off, but Joff’s movements didn’t really feel like much once it had gone. Maybe akin to someone putting a finger up her nose? Over and over. It wasn’t unpleasant as such, but not a patch on the pleasure she’d had touching herself there during her own intimate moments.

She tried moving with him, but he told her to lie still.

Suddenly he thrust harder a couple of times, grunted even more loudly, and collapsed onto her.

She was just about to ask him to move so she could breathe when he pulled out of her and flopped onto his back. He ripped off the blood-smeared condom and tossed it onto the floor.

They both lay silently.

She didn’t feel any different. Not about Joffrey, not about herself. She mostly wanted to have a shower.

“Was it good for you, my little dove?” said Joffrey after a few minutes of silence.

Sansa let out a sigh of relief. There was the romantic Joffrey that she loved. “Oh yes, it was wonderful,” she gushed.

Perhaps the mystical connection would come with time. Maybe she’d even get an orgasm out of it. She considered asking for help with one now, but couldn’t think of any words to frame the request that weren’t extremely embarrassing.

She rolled and slung an arm over him so they could cuddle. He patted her back a couple of times.

“I’ve got to go,” Joff said after a few more minutes. “Our parents will be back soon.”

“Of course,” Sansa murmured.

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then pulled his clothes back on before turning to leave.

“Don’t forget the sweater,” she said, smiling at him.

Joffrey grabbed the sweater and waved it at her. “Oh yeah, thanks.”

***

**From:** Joffrey Baratheon <JBara103@KLCollegiate.edu>  
**Sent:** 29th day of the 10th Moon, 6:49:51 PM.  
**To:** Sansa Stark <S.M.Stark@WinterfellHigh.edu>  
**Subject:** it’s time

Dear Sansa,

Love is like the rolling tide, it comes and it goes. Unfortunately the tide is out in my love for you and I don't think it will come back in. I know it's hard to hear, but the least I can give you now is honesty. I hope you can move on like the churning ocean waves, with strength and purpose.

All the Best,

Joffrey

P.S. Thanks for the sweater.

“The rolling tide?” wheezed Arya, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. “What the fuck?”

“Arya it’s not funny!” croaked Sansa, her voice wrecked from crying. “He just broke my heart.”

“Wait a moment,” Arya said, grabbing her phone and typing something in. “Look, he’s copied and pasted from a website with breakup email templates.”

Sansa managed to control herself, though her lower lip wobbled. “He must be heartbroken too, he couldn’t come up with the right words.”

Arya sighed. “Sans, I didn’t want to tell you this, but Joffrey has been pictured on the society gossip sites with Margaery Tyrell.”

Sansa gulped and grabbed her phone, typing both their names into her browser.

“You probably shouldn’t look…” Arya said, suddenly sounding concerned.

There they were. Beautiful, glamourous, doubtless totally waxed Margaery Tyrell on Joffrey’s arm.

Sansa gasped and looked more closely.

Joffrey wore the sweater she knitted for him. It looked perfect on him, dodgy stripe and all.

Sansa burst into tears again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some sex acts that don’t have clear and enthusiastic consent beforehand. No non con, but maybe could be perceived as dub con adjacent? I felt gross and uncomfortable writing some of it, so you might feel gross and uncomfortable reading some of it! 
> 
> (also I found Joffrey’s email on a website that did contain form emails to break up with people 😂)


	2. The Harry Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of chapter 1 for those who skipped it/blanked it out of their minds: Naïve, romantic 18y/o Sansa got into a relationship with Joffrey because she thought he was hot and also she was keen to lose her v-card. She made him a sweater to express her regard for him, against advice that it was too much too soon. She did have sex with him, and it turned out to be a profoundly mediocre experience. Shortly afterwards he broke up with her via email (not even a good email, he sent a shitty, copied from the internet message), and was pictured wearing the sweater Sansa made him whilst out on the town with Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well done everyone, we got through the Joffrey smut. Now let us never speak of it again. 😂
> 
> [Link to the Harry Sweater](https://www.garnstudio.com/pattern.php?id=4535&cid=19)
> 
> I hope you are all well and safe. This chapter is also potentially uncomfortable in parts, so this note is a heads up for that (some people might be all WHAT DID I READ??? while others will think it’s no big deal). I’m wanting to try something different and explore some uncomfortable themes and situations for the first three chapters of this story, but I swear we are going somewhere worthwhile with all this! I only deal in happy endings. There is a minor specific warning that I’ll put in the end a/n for those who prefer to be well informed.

**Harry [3.14pm] – Hey Sans, thnx 4 giving me ur number. Do u want to go out to dinner on Friday? 6pm if ur free? xxx**

Harrold Hardyng loved women, according to Margaery Tyrell.

Sansa raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“He’ll rock your world,” Margaery said, waving a milk foam covered spoon at Sansa. “Just the thing to get back into dating after your experience with our mutual ‘friend’. You’ve been single for forever.”

They both shuddered at the mention of Joffrey.

They’d bonded over their shared, mortifying, history with him during the previous year, their first at university. In what might have been an awkward situation they’d ended up in the same tutorial group for Ancient Westerosi History 101, one of the foundation papers for Sansa’s degree. Luckily, she and Margaery had hit it off right away, both women having been used and dumped by Joffrey. Sansa had even taken a Modern Literature paper, from Margaery’s degree, because they’d had such fun studying together.

“I’m not sure a lady’s man is quite what I’m looking for,” said Sansa, eyeing her phone where the message from Harry sat, burning a virtual hole in her SMS folder. “Harry’s got a reputation. He’s pictured with a different woman every time he goes out.”

She stirred her skim-milk hot chocolate, regretting not getting cream and marshmallows with it. She was always too embarrassed to eat anything unhealthy in front of Margaery, who never seemed to mind the ‘skinny’ options.

Sansa liked cream and marshmallows.

Margaery snorted. “Trust me sweetie, a lady’s man is exactly what you are looking for.” She took a sip of her coffee and sighed in apparent pleasure. “Anyway, it’s just a date, it’s not marriage. Go out with him, have some fun! Don’t take it too seriously. Live a little and wash away The Joffrey Experience.”

Harry seemed very polite, personable, and charming. Not to mention handsome, with excellent bone structure, blond hair and striking blue eyes. Margaery just happened to point out that Harry was also the heir to a toothpaste fortune, and he currently studied Business at Kings Landing University. Harry the Heir, the society pages called him. Sansa didn’t particularly care about his background, but it made things easier that they moved in the same circles.

Just a date didn’t sound too threatening.

**Sansa [3.59pm] – okay sure. Sounds fun xo**

One date turned into three dates.

Then five dates.

Six dates and Sansa found herself in Harry’s bed.

She’d had to tell Harry she’d only had sex once before. Her past wasn’t his business, but Sansa had an ever-present frisson of terror that he’d find her lacking, like Joffrey apparently had. Harry kissed her after she admitted her lack of experience, told her she was beautiful and not to worry.

Nerves had made Sansa skittish on the sixth date, a lovely dinner at a Meereenese restaurant. Six dates had seemed too long to make Harry wait for sex, but he’d been endlessly patient with her.

She knew it would be fine. Harry knew exactly what he should be doing in bed, which was, Margaery would say, entirely the point of dating someone who had a reputation for romancing lots of women.

Harry’s bed was huge, with tasteful designer linen and piles of pillows. Sansa found it surprisingly well lit, for a bedroom, with stylish lamps in every corner.

Before she got her head around what she was doing, she found herself naked and in the bed, bathed in lamplight, with Harry between her legs.

His breath caressed her most private area, currently totally bare, and she tried not to squirm with embarrassment at the view he currently had.

“You should go natural,” he said, and she felt him speak, puffs of warm breath on her skin. “I’ll bet the hair would be the same colour as your head. That’s sexy.”

Sansa resisted the urge to huff with annoyance. She wished there was one standard of beauty that she could follow as a guarantee that men would find her acceptable. The only plus to Harry’s opinion was that there wouldn’t have to be any more painful intimate waxes in her future if he were telling the truth.

She jumped as he lowered his mouth to touch her. It was difficult to be sure if Harry’s clear, bald view of her helped or not, but he found her clit with unerring accuracy. His tongue slid around, warm and slick, and more enjoyable even than fingers. It was a peculiar sensation, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, but he lapped at her with evident pleasure and she told herself off for over thinking it. Sansa moaned, more to encourage herself than Harry, and tried to relax and wallow in the sensations.

She moved her hands down to tangle in his hair, giving them something to do whilst she concentrated on the feelings Harry elicited from her.

His tongue explored her, tracing her folds and only sometimes returning to graze her clit. When it did, she gasped and tightened her grip on his hair, but he always moved past.

When the teasing made her desperate enough to start trying to tug him into position to give her the most pleasure, she felt him smile against her and finally concentrate on her clit.

She arched her back and cried out at her first orgasm given to her by another person.

He crawled up her body to kiss her lips as she tried to catch her breath, and the taste of herself on him was simultaneously odd and intensely erotic.

Harry rolled on his own condom, cheerfully and without complaint, and made sure she was comfortable before sliding into her.

He sat back on his knees with practiced grace and pulled her legs up over his shoulders.

Sansa gasped. Harry had appeared reasonably well endowed, insofar as she was qualified to judge those types of things, and the feeling of him inside her was incredible. His thrusts were deep and slow and before long she had started to moan continuously. She had some relief when he dropped a hand down to rub at her clit, and he bought her to orgasm again before his own climax.

Sansa lay limp on the bed afterwards, totally poleaxed. She’d never experienced anything like this. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought this might be love again.

It was time.

She needed to make Harry a sweater to show him her feelings.

***

Sansa took her studies very seriously. She wasn’t completely certain where she was going with her history degree, but she felt confident an employment opportunity would present itself once she graduated.

She and Harry couldn’t see each other as much as they both wanted, their studies being too important, but when they got together, the sex was a revelation for Sansa. She found it incredibly flattering to have someone with Harry’s reputation focused so intently on her, astounding that he was a changed man. She became the only woman pictured publicly on his arm, and when they were alone, they had long bouts of intense lovemaking.

Sansa decided to head off for a few days to Winterfell during the mid-term break. She’d asked if Harry wanted to join her, but he apparently had some work to do for the family firm.

“I had a spare key made, so you can come around whenever,” said Harry as he let Sansa into his apartment.

Sansa paused just inside the door and squealed with excitement. “Wow, this is such a huge step, thank you.”

Harry made a gesture of dismissal, but he grinned at her. “You can use my big shower, do some baking. Work on your knitting. Anything you want!”

The small shower in her little student apartment was large enough for her, but not for more than one person, she supposed. And Harry’s kitchen was better than hers. He knew all about the sweater she was working on, too. Sansa enjoyed talking about the technical details of the cabling and the adjustments she’d made to up the size to fit an adult. She’d even enthused about the yarn, a lovely fine DK weight organic wool, coloured pale grey. He’d listened, and been excited to wear something she made tor him.

She threw her arms around his neck and whispered, “Thank you for the key.”

Harry took her hand and pulled her into his cozy living room.

A woman she hadn’t met before sat curled up on the couch. The woman was tall and slim, with beautiful honey-coloured hair. She held a coffee mug in her hand and was sipping a drink from it.

“This is Saffron,” said Harry. “We go way back. You might find her here sometimes, she’s got a key as well.”

He flashed Sansa another gorgeous smile.

So having a key wasn’t such a big step?

Sansa berated herself for being jealous. Harry had just said he was old friends with Saffron.

They all exchanged pleasant small talk before Saffron took her leave, giving Sansa a wink when she suggested Sansa might be keen for some alone time with Harry. 

Sansa was, in fact, most keen for some alone time with Harry. As soon as Saffron had left Sansa took Harry’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom, eagerly kissing him in between removing items of clothing.

They tangled naked on his bed, touching, moaning, kissing.

“Spank me, sparrow,” Harry said suddenly, rolling onto his front. He lay his cheek on the arms he’d crossed beneath his head and wiggled his hips.

“Spank you?” Sansa repeated, trying to process the unexpected request.

Her thoughts flittered around, caught as she was off guard.

Harry had started to call her ‘sparrow’ sometimes, which she thought was a sweet form of endearment. Starks were all supposed to be strong and resilient like the direwolves of their old family sigil, but she’d always considered herself more akin to a fluttering little Southern bird compared to their Northern solidity and stoicism.

“Hard as you can, yes please. I’ve been a very naughty boy.” He flashed her his sexiest smile over his shoulder.

Margaery, a fount of information on all matters sexual, had talked plenty of times about kink. This was, from the startling things Margaery had told her about, a very mild request.

The idea still sat uncomfortably with her. People liked what they liked, and there was certainly no shame in that, but she hadn’t come here expecting to hit anyone. Even if they wanted it, and had asked for it.

She tapped his bottom, running her hand down the curve of his rear and down the back of a thigh after.

He hummed. “Harder.”

She’d never hit anyone before. Sometimes the boys and Arya would get into physical fights, but she never did. Only with words.

Sansa grimaced. Naked in bed with your boyfriend wasn’t the time to recall arguing with your siblings.

This was what Harry wanted.

She clenched her jaw and spanked Harry as hard as she could. It stung her hand, but he moaned and ground himself against the bed, evidently enjoying it.

She repeated the action twice more, but her initial resolve flagged, and her smacks got weaker.

Sansa felt nothing but relief when Harry pushed himself up onto hands and knees, gave her his trademark cheeky grin and pushed her down on the bed, kissing her senseless. Her arousal had disappeared with the unexpected spanking situation but came flooding back as Harry kissed her and rubbed her nipples in the way she loved.

He always insisted on wearing a condom, despite her having an IUD now. She enjoyed the anticipation of watching him put it on though, squirming at the thought of the delight to come as he rolled it over his hard flesh.

He clutched her ankles and spread her legs wide once he was inside of her. The pleasure was exquisite, and she arched her back as she cried out in ecstasy. Harry moved more forcefully than usual, but she loved it, especially when he rubbed her in just the right way, sending her spinning into her climax, followed shortly thereafter by him.

“Where are you on the subject of threesomes?” Harry asked as they lay tangled together in post-coital bliss.

Sansa blinked, surprised again. “I… I’ve never thought about them?”

It was turning out to be a day for things she’d not considered before.

Harry ran a loving hand up her bare flank. “Well would you be interested, not interested?”

Sansa was deeply uncomfortable with the idea. She didn’t want to dismiss it out of hand though. Like the spanking, she knew it was something that some people did, and obviously enjoyed. She found it difficult to imagine being intimate with two people at once, but maybe the concept would grow on her.

“I’d have to think about it. Do you mind if we talk about it after I came back from Winterfell?”

“Of course, that’s fine. I want you to be comfortable, sparrow.” He missed her tenderly. “We could have some fun together, you and I.”

Sansa found their sex life very fun already, with the possible, and very recent, exception of being asked to hit Harry. She’d never imagined the experience of intimacy would be so blissful, so all consumingly erotic.

***

Margaery had come with her to Winterfell for two days (mostly for the fun of the road trip in Sansa’s car) before catching the train back down to High Garden. Margaery shut down Arya’s rude questioning about Joffrey with a cheerful “Yes I fucked him, yes he is horrible, no I don’t want to see him again.”

Sansa had never seen Arya dealt with so efficiently. Apparently Margaery had lots of younger female cousins that she regularly had to quell.

Sansa spent most of her time after Margaery left working on the Harry Sweater. She’d knitted cabled patterns before, so she sat serenely in the family room, the charts for the pattern and endless needles of various types surrounding her.

“Another sweater?” said Catelyn gently at one point, as she brought Sansa a cup of her favourite Dornish-blend tea.

“Harry deserves it,” replied Sansa firmly, before thanking for mother for the drink. The situation was nothing like when she knitted a sweater for Joffrey. She’d been intimate with Harry plenty of times and they were still together. That connection meant things were going to last.

Sansa decided to drive back to Kings Landing a day early to surprise Harry with the gift. She had a key, after all, she would let herself into his place and wait for him. Perhaps partially naked in his bed, wearing only the sweater?

Harry’s apartment was quiet when Sansa walked in, the sweater draped over her arm, but for what sounded like murmuring from Harry’s bedroom. Perhaps he was watching television in there?

Sansa flung open the door to his room, but her cheerful greeting died on her lips.

Harry couldn’t see her, mainly because a naked, moaning Saffron was sitting on his face, her legs splayed either side of his ears.

Sansa didn’t recognise the pretty, dark haired woman straddling him lower down, though she seemed to be enjoying herself in the moments before she caught sight of Sansa and froze.

“Why’d you stop, Cissy?” said Harry’s muffled voice from below Saffron. “Keep fucking me, sparrow.”

“Oh my gods,” said Sansa, finding her voice, stuck to the spot in horror.

“Fuck,” said Harry, pushing Saffron off his face. “It’s not what it looks like.”

His face was shiny from, well, from Saffron.

The oddest things struck Sansa as she stood frozen, taking in the sight of her boyfriend with a pair of nude women.

Harry’s moist face, glistening in the lamplight.

The perfectly sculpted landing strip of Cissy’s curly dark brown pubic hair.

Saffron lifting her hands to cover her breasts, even though the rest of her was clearly visible. She had a tiny sparrow tattooed between her breasts and Sansa had never hated anything as much in that moment as she hated that little bird.

Sansa unfroze and took a step backwards.

“Sansa, wait,” said Harry, struggling into a sitting position as he wiped his mouth. “I couldn’t help it. Join us, Sansa. We’d make you feel so good.”

With a single sob, Sansa threw the beautiful sweater at him and ran out of his apartment. Harry’s final words, “But we weren’t exclusive,” followed her as she fled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some mild kink that is requested without any prior knowledge or negotiation with one of the participants. Also it’s in the fic tags, but there is some infidelity in there too.


	3. The Petyr Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of chapter 2: Harry the Toothpaste Heir loves the ladies. Sansa has some sexy fun with him, but it turns out he’s not great at understanding boundaries and fidelity. Sansa knitted him a lovely sweater, with cables and everything, but things don’t end well when she catches him in bed with two other women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warnings and a brief summary of events are in the end authors note because I know a few of you are wary of this chapter. 
> 
> On the plus side, guess which large grump we'll be meeting in the next chapter! 😊
> 
> [The Petyr Sweater](https://www.garnstudio.com/pattern.php?id=7785&cid=17)

Head of the History Department, Professor Petyr Baelish had earned himself the reputation as a respected scholar specialising in post-Conquest economies.

It was something of a coup that, six months ago, he had wanted to supervise Sansa’s Master’s thesis on how the seasons influenced regional fashions in the second century post-Conquest. Apart from the time period, Sansa’s topic wasn’t Professor Baelish’s area of interest, but he was an influential historian and powerful member of the faculty.

“He’s a fucking creep,” said Arya, Sansa’s roommate in the two years since Sansa’s third and Arya’s first year of university.

Arya squinted at the pot she was scrubbing, then gave it a final rinse and handed it to Sansa.

“You say that about every man I have a personal interaction with,” replied Sansa, frowning. She carefully wiped the pot dry with her clean tea towel to avoid any water spots. Arya never cared about those details, but Sansa liked spotless pots.

“That’s because you attract creeps and weirdos.” Arya’s tone sounded matter of fact, but her words still stung. She waved one of the dirty coffee mugs at Sansa before submerging it in the hot dishwater. “Remember Lommy?”

The previous year Sansa had had two dates with a second year Chemistry major named Lommy Greenhands. The relationship ended when he kept trying to sniff her.

He claimed she smelled good.

Sansa was quite sure she did smell nice, mainly because she showered daily and habitually wore deodorant, clean clothing, and a crisp lemon and vanilla scented perfume, but having that fact pointed out had been a bit much.

Sansa sighed and stacked the mugs Arya passed her onto the dish rack. She wasn’t worried about water spots on mugs. “How could I possibly forget Lommy? You’re still friends with him.”

Arya grinned and patted Sansa’s nearest hand with her damp, bubbly one. “And he’s a weirdo. At least you didn’t knit him a sweater. That would guarantee he’d fuck you over in some creative and embarrassing way.”

Sansa had not told Arya about her latest sweater project.

She might have developed the tiniest, smallest, itsy bitsy crush on Professor Baelish at the start of the school year. It was only a brief phase she went through, peppered with the occasional guilty fantasy about a sexy older man bending her over his desk and showing her how a real man treated a woman.

She was over the crush phase now, and her sentiments had morphed into an entirely correct attitude of respect and admiration. The more time she spent with Professor Baelish, the more inappropriate her previous crush felt. He was the head of the History Department who had kindly offered to supervise her thesis. Thinking about him romantically hadn’t been fair.

So making him a sweater wasn’t weird, Sansa had decided, it was just her way of thanking him for being her supervisor.

It was a nice simple sweater anyway, no big deal. Perfectly suitable as a ‘thank you’ present. Basic stitch patterns in a natural Crownlands merino yarn. No cabling this time. She’d decided that cabling should be saved for family only.

Margaery would say that she’d been celibate too long, and that it had made her have crazy fantasies. Margaery wasn’t here though, she’d moved home to High Garden after finishing her undergraduate degree and now worked for her family’s world famous adult products company. Sansa missed her, even when Margaery had sent her an enormous, electric blue dildo for her last nameday and she’d unwittingly opened the present in front of her family.

Sansa liked to think that one day her dad would recover from that particular experience.

They finished the dishes, including the usual arguments about the correct way to position the mugs in the cupboard. She was on Team Rightside-up and Arya was Team Upside-down.

Sansa left Arya sitting at the table and studying, and probably getting a private visit from her ‘just friends’ friend, Gendry.

She headed down to her regular thesis meeting with her supervisor. They lived within walking distance of the campus, which made life much easier.

Professor Baelish wanted to meet weekly, which was far more frequent than some other faculty members who supervised some of Sansa’s post-grad friends. He was just thorough, Sansa reasoned. Mostly they’d spent meetings talking about his research for his new book and his job as Head of Department. She often found it fascinating to hear about his work, and flattering to have such a respected academic interested in her opinions.

She almost collided with another of Professor Baelish’s students, Ros, in the hallway outside his office. Ros wasn’t looking where she was going, as she busily applied lipstick as she hurried along the hall.

Professor Baelish’s large office was warmer than usual, which might have been why he looked a little flushed. Sansa briefly considered another, more disturbing reason why that might be. She quickly dismissed that with an internal scolding, telling herself not to think the worst of people.

He greeted her kindly and motioned for her to take a seat.

She allowed herself a moment to imagine the Professor wearing a sweater she knitted for him. He wouldn’t need to turn the heating up then, he’d always be warm.

They chatted about his work and research. He even asked after the progression of her own research, and if she’d gained access to the rare books section of the Red Keep library without any trouble.

She had been spending a lot of time at the Red Keep. They had a marvellous collection of primary source materials, including some preserved textiles.

“You know I used to be friends with your mother?” Professor Baelish said suddenly, after she’d finished telling him about a particularly fine second century Valyrian-influenced dress.

Sansa had told her parents how excited she was about Professor Baelish’s supervision the last time she’d visited them in Winterfell. It had been at her nameday, so she’d waxed lyrical about it to distract her father from the Great Dildo Incident, as Rickon had dubbed it.

Cat Stark had mentioned she, Aunt Lysa (“Crazy Aunt Lysa,” Robb had muttered under his breath) and Professor Baelish had grown up together down in the Riverlands. She’d been pleased when Sansa told them about his supervisory role, and thought he could do brilliant things for a potential academic career if Sansa pursued that route. Sansa still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do after her thesis.

“Mum talks of you fondly,” replied Sansa.

Her dad had been less keen, for some reason, but she didn’t mention that.

Professor Baelish steepled his fingers in front of his face as he regarded Sansa. “You look like her. Very similar indeed.”

Sansa didn’t like people focusing on the way she looked. Constant, unwanted male attention had caused her to stop going out to bars and clubs years ago. She wanted to be taken seriously because of her intellect, not treated like a pretty piece of flesh.

“Yes, so I’m told,” she said neutrally.

“Cat was an exquisite young woman.”

Professor Baelish had always treated her like, not as an equal, but as someone he respected. Focusing on her appearance made Sansa feel like he wasn’t taking her academic efforts seriously.

She steered the conversation away from her appearance by asking him for more details about his latest research.

Sansa was gathering her notes to leave when Professor Baelish came around the desk and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Sansa, I wonder if you’d do me the honour of taking you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Her heart gave a nervous little flutter. A dinner invitation? The remnants of her old secret crush flared up and made themselves known, and she hastily stomped them back down. She respected and admired Professor Baelish, as was his due. That was all.

“Is there an occasion, Professor?”

He squeezed her shoulder, which she decided was intended to be a gesture of reassurance about the propriety of the offer. “No occasion, my dear, just a chance to have a chat outside of the rarified university environment.”

Sansa wasn’t sure if she wanted to do this.

She couldn’t very well say no to her supervisor though, not over such a minor request.

It was just dinner.

She cleared her throat. “Alright. That sounds lovely.”

“I’ll pick you up, I’ll SMS you the details.”

***

“Creeps and weirdos,” said Arya the following evening, sitting at the table surrounded by her textbooks. “You’re too fucking good looking. Maybe try to come across like a normal person and you won’t attract the crazies. I dunno, wear sweatpants or something.”

Sansa sat down on the chair next to Arya and carefully slipped her feet into her most sophisticated high heels. If she was going out to dinner, she wanted to at least look good. Sweatpants did not look good.

“That’s not helpful,” Sansa said sternly. “Professor Baelish respects me on an intellectual level, that’s what this is about. And he’s not crazy.”

“No, he’s creepy,” replied Arya, scowling at her. “And he’s our parents age. It’s weird.”

“It’s not that kind of date, anyway.”

Arya looked exasperated. “Sansa,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Yes, it is.”

Sansa grimaced. This was not the time for doubts to be creeping in.

Arya put her pencil down on top of one of her terrifying physics textbooks and sighed. “I’ve seen your sneaky sweater. It’s clearly designed for a man. Please be careful. I don’t want to have to unleash vengeance upon anyone.”

“Look, Arya, I don’t know how I feel. He’s a powerful man at the University, and I admire him.” Sansa shook her head. “I didn’t really have a choice other than to say yes. But, no, I don’t think I’m entirely comfortable with this situation.”

“That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard you say since you told Mum you weren’t a size queen when Marg gave you that giant blue cock.”

Sansa winced involuntarily. “You promised to never speak of that again. And I’m not a siz… a that.”

Arya kindly switched the subject back to her impending date. “So, why’d you agree to go out with Professor Creepypants? You never gave me a straight answer.”

“That’s because you had Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie here all day playing video games instead of studying. I don’t need to talk about my personal life in front of them. Especially Lommy.”

Arya shrugged. “Fair point. Then why did you say yes?”

“Well it was a flattering offer, for a start. And I respect him greatly, but you don’t say no to a man like him.” Sansa’s phone beeped with a message and she checked it. “He’s here.”

Arya groaned. “Good luck. Call me if you need a rescue.”

Professor Baelish stood waiting beside his car. He wasn’t holding flowers and it gave Sansa a boost that he wasn’t behaving as if this was a date.

Sansa usually didn’t think about the fact that she was fairly tall for a woman, typically only remembering in the moments that Arya asked her to fetch something from a high cupboard. She forgot, when donning her high heels, that she already stood taller than Professor Baelish in flats and now there was a noticeable height difference. She didn’t mind, but his smile slipped a little upon seeing her and having to direct his gaze upwards.

Once they both sat down in his sports car and driving he seemed to recover, which was good because her shoes were now making her feet hurt and she didn’t need any reason to regret wearing them.

Professor Baelish drove her to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Kings Landing, one that insisted on maintaining an old-fashioned silver service. Sansa had grown up well versed in matters of etiquette, so it wasn’t intimidating, but it was pretentious. Even her parents preferred a more relaxed dining atmosphere; being old money, they had nothing to prove. Her dad always complained about having to go out to fancy benefit evenings and business dinners at high-class restaurants.

“Nothing but the best for a Stark,” said Professor Baelish, apparently mistaking her silence for awe. “I imagine Cat practically raised you at fine establishments like this.”

Sansa had the mental image of her parents’ typical date nights, cuddled up on their comfortable old family room couch in matching onesies, watching her mum’s favourite romantic comedy movies. The ones her dad always said he didn’t like, but always cried at the end of, and then Mum had to make him a nice cup of tea so he’d feel better.

“The best…” Sansa echoed faintly, thinking that Petyr and her family had considerably different opinions about what the best was.

Once they were seated, he ordered her an Arbor Gold wine without asking her preference. She hadn’t planned on drinking but decided to nurse the glass of wine to be polite.

“To excellent company, and your academic career,” said Professor Baelish, holding out his wine glass so she could clink hers against it.

“Thanks Professor,” replied Sansa, echoing his motion then taking a sip.

“Call me Petyr, please. I think we no longer need to stand on ceremony.”

“Thank you Petyr, then.” Sansa smiled at him. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I’ll continue in academia though.”

Professor Baelish waved his hand. “Nonsense. You have the chance to make a name for yourself as a scholar, not throw it all away by drowning yourself in mediocrity.”

If she was honest with herself, Sansa had chosen to do her Master’s because she didn’t know what else to do with her History degree, and the extra study time was a delaying tactic. Her parents would never let her starve, but Sansa was determined to make her own way in the world and support herself. Her main fear was not being able to find a job in the ‘real world’ and having to go back North with her tail between her legs.

She sensed, however, that now was not the time to reveal her doubts to the Professor.

“I do enjoy the research,” she said instead. “Not so much the tutoring undergraduates.”

“They are a trial. This years new batch seem particularly dull.

Sansa had spotted some of the prettier first years hanging around near Professor Baelish’s office, but that was normal. Students often got star struck around the more notable professors, and as Head of Department he was, after all, the most notable.

Sansa did not point that out. Instead she said, “My students are alright, they just don’t seem to have much passion for the subject.”

“Not like you and the lovely Miss Tyrell,” said Professor Baelish fondly. “How is Margaery doing these days? I haven’t heard from her since she graduated.”

In her most recent message, Margaery had offered to send her a free dragon-themed dildo from the latest product line. Sansa had not enquired as to what a dragon-themed dildo looked like.

“She’s… living her best life,” Sansa replied carefully.

Professor Baelish leaned back his chair, ostentatiously casual. “She works for her family’s Piquant Rose company does she not?”

Sansa had no desire to discuss boutique adult novelties, as the company tagline went, with her thesis supervisor. Or with anyone, really. Luckily the arrival of more food and drink saved her from embarrassment, and Professor Baelish started waxing lyrical about his travels to various famous wine-producing regions.

The food was top quality and enjoyable, though the experience was more akin to one of their usual meetings once Professor Baelish got started about his recent work.

She half listened and made all the right noises at the correct times. Usually she enjoyed listening to him talk at length, but outside of the university environment, it seemed a little… dull. Her feet still hurt inside her shoes too.

She speared a forkful of asparagus and reminded herself of what a well-respected scholar Professor Baelish was, interested in spending time with her.

Sansa intended to have dessert, her favourite part of any meal, since the restaurant served lemon cakes.

Professor Baelish raised his eyebrows at this. “It’s unusual for a young woman to eat dessert,” he said with a slight smile.

Sansa had a vivid recollection of Arya once eating an entire chocolate cake by herself.

Well, perhaps he was right about some women. Margaery, for one, never ate dessert.

Sansa was sorely tempted to have the lemon cakes anyway, but the thought of Professor Baelish judging every bite made her lose her appetite.

The drive home went quickly, and Sansa was keen to get into her pajamas and try to sort out her whirling feelings.

Professor Baelish pulled up outside her and Arya’s house and got out to open her car door. Sansa stood up, concentrating on balancing on her high heels, and he pulled her into a sudden kiss.

She squeaked in alarm at the sudden proximity of Professor Baelish’s face. She had a moment of panic, but then, not knowing the polite way to back out of a surprise kiss, let him kiss her.

His moustache tickled, and it wasn’t… horrible.

Mostly she felt frozen, and not a part of the situation.

Sanity returned when he tried to slide his tongue into her mouth.

She pulled back and put her hand gently on Professor Baelish’s chest to stop him diving for her again. He stepped back and gave her a half smile.

“Thank you for a nice night, Pr… Petyr,” she said, her heart racing. “But I’m not looking for that kind of relationship right now.”

Professor Baelish’s facial expression didn’t change. “Let’s discuss it at our next meeting.”

Sansa let a long breath out. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight Sansa.”

Sansa hurried inside without looking back. Arya was waiting up, still surrounded by textbooks.

“He surprise kissed you?” said Arya, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Sansa sat back in the chair she’d sat in to put her shoes on and now took them off. She wiggled her toes in relief before saying, “Arya! Were you watching us?”

“Yes,” Arya replied, unrepentantly. “I heard the car pull up and wanted to make sure he didn’t try anything you didn’t want.”

Sansa didn’t have the energy to be mad, given what Professor Baelish ended up doing. “Yes, he did surprise kiss me.”

Arya growled under her breath. “That’s fucked up. Where’s the fucking consent?”

“I wonder if he thought it was romantic. Some people think surprise kisses are romantic.”

Sansa’s thoughts were still in a whirl, her heart hammering in her chest. Kissing someone was not part of a supervisor/supervisee relationship.

Arya slapped her hand down on the table and Sansa jumped. “Non-consensual kissing is not romantic.”

“I didn’t… not consent to the kiss,” said Sansa, trying to get her thoughts in order. “He did surprise me, but I let him kiss me, then I stopped him and said I wasn’t looking for that kind of relationship.

“Well not with a dirty old man.” Arya tapped her fingers on one of the textbooks and glared out the window, though Professor Baelish had left straight away.

Sansa wiggled her toes some more. She hadn’t worn high heels in a long time. “Not with my supervisor.”

“That’s fucked up,” said Arya, still staring out the window, “he’s in a position of power over you.”

Sansa’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how to react. I don’t dislike him. I certainly don’t want to upset him. He’s an important person in my life.”

Arya finally looked back at Sansa. “The power dynamic here is just so fucked.”

“I do admire him,” said Sansa, ashamed that she’d got herself into the situation to begin with.

“You’re still allowed to say no, Sans,” said Arya, taking Sansa’s hand and patting it. It was a very Cat Stark move and it made Sansa smile despite herself.

“I know,” said Sansa, “but it’s not that simple.”

Arya made a face. “Is this because you liked him enough to start a sweater for him? Having a crush on someone doesn’t mean you’re under any obligation to them. Or that you aren’t allowed to say no if they want to fuck you or kiss you.”

Sansa was too mixed up even to be embarrassed Arya knew about her stealthy knitting project. “I don’t have a crush on him anymore. And I know I can say no. Of course I know that. I’m really confused.”

Arya sighed deeply. “Yeah it’s all fucked up.”

Sansa sighed as well. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Sansa went into her room and eyed the Petyr Sweater where it sat beside her bed. She put it away in one of her bedside drawers.

She didn’t have the heart to look at it right now.

***

On the day of their next meeting, Sansa had butterflies in her stomach. She hoped Professor Baelish would forget about everything and just want to go back to being her supervisor. Memories of Ros hurriedly reapplying her lipstick came to mind again, and she shook her head.

She intended to keep things professional, so she bought in her all work as a kind of academic shield against any further advances.

“I’ve prepared some worthwhile sketches and photos of items from the Red Keep textile collection,” she said after greeting Professor Baelish.

He sat behind his enormous desk, peering at her intently as she walked into his office with her head held high.

He crooked his finger towards her. “Bring them here.”

She walked forward and slid her sketchbook across the desk so he could peruse them.

He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist before she could retract it.

“What’s going on, Sansa? You’ve gone cold on me.”

His grip was strong, and she couldn’t pull away. “I was just trying to keep things professional Professor.”

“I asked you to call me Petyr,” Professor Baelish said, his voice icy.

Sansa kept her own voice calm. “Please let me go, Petyr.”

He released her wrist and looked at his hand in distaste. “Look what you’ve made me do. Acting like a brute. It’s unbecoming for the Head of Department.”

She couldn’t just leave without her sketchbook. She gave a neutral hum in response.

“Sansa. I have a special interest in you, that’s why I wanted to supervise your thesis. I can do a lot for you, but I need you to do some things in return. It’s a reciprocal arrangement.” His voice sounded eminently reasonable, in contrast to the implications of his words.

“Professor…” she began.

“Petyr,” he spoke sharply, just for that moment.

Professor Baelish thumbed through her sketchbook after saying his own name, far too quickly to take in her detailed drawings and notes.

Sansa licked her lips, which felt dry and clumsy. “Petyr. I thought it was your job to supervise students.”

Sansa wished she could be as brave as Arya. Arya would tell Professor Baelish to f-word off and storm out. Sansa wanted to try to salvage the situation though.

“Of course. But I’ve done a lot of work for you, publicly announced my support for you. We’re both adults. Adults expect a favour for a favour.” He tossed the sketchbook on his desk and Sansa quickly moved forward, retrieved it and stepped back again.

Sansa gritted her teeth. “What kind of favour, Professor?”

“Petyr.” He stood up and it was then she noticed the bulge in the front of his neatly pressed trousers. “For a start, I think you would look very beautiful kneeling on my carpet for me. Then we can discuss how we might move forward.”

To her shame, Sansa took a moment to register what Professor Baelish meant.

She shook her head after a long pause. “Prof… Petyr. I’m not going to trade sexual favours for academic advancement.”

Professor Baelish laughed. “What a cold description. I thought we were friends, you and I. I like to help my friends.”

Sansa hesitated again, and Professor Baelish started to undo his belt.

She turned to leave then, clutching her books and papers to her chest like a shield.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I need to go.”

“If you walk out that door,” said Professor Baelish, quietly, “I’ll make sure you never publish anything. I can guarantee you won’t be welcome in any History department in Westeros.”

Sansa walked out the door.

***

“What are you doing?” asked a concerned Arya, an hour later.

“Unravelling the stupid sweater,” replied Sansa thickly, as she pulled free another length of yarn, tears rolling down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dragon themed dildo Margaery offers to send to Sansa is like the ones on the Bad Dragon website. I’m not going to link it though because it is very NSFW!
> 
> Warnings: unwanted sexual advances, dub con kissing. There is no explicit adult content.
> 
> Summary of events:  
> Set up for Sansa’s current life and studies and how Baelish came to be her thesis supervisor.  
> Thesis meeting in Baelish’s office where they talk shop and he asks her out to dinner.  
> Arya points out Baelish is creepy.  
> ‘Date’ at a fancy restaurant.  
> Baelish drives Sansa home: KISS TAKES PLACE HERE.  
> Convo with Arya about Sansa’s confused feelings and the power dynamics at play.  
> Skips to next thesis meeting, Sansa is determined to keep things professional: SEXUAL ADVANCES TAKE PLACE HERE.  
> Sansa unravels the sweater.


	4. The Sandor Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary of chapter 3 for those who wished to skip Littlefinger-related content:  
> Sansa was doing her Master’s degree at Kings Landing university with Prof Baelish as her supervisor. It started off okay, but got more and more creepy. Sansa tried to keep things professional but Prof Baelish requested she give him a blow job, implying that if she didn’t, he’d ruin her academic career. She refused, willing to take the consequences of turning him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very brief reference to past unwanted sexual advances
> 
> [The Sandor Gloves](https://freevintageknitting.com/mittens/617-gloves-pattern.html)

Nobody at the White Harbor docks wanted to deal with the grumpy old sea captain named Sandor Clegane.

“He can’t be that bad,” said Sansa to her new colleague, Wylla Manderly, as they stared at the list of people with docking permits.

“He’s worse,” said Wylla darkly. “Once he made Alysanne cry because he started shouting about scheduling or something. She said he was so ugly she couldn’t even look at him”

Sansa tried to recall which person Alysanne was. Possibly the middle-aged blonde woman who kept showing everyone pictures of her cats? She had met too many new people lately, most of them had become an amorphous blur in her head.

It sounded like this Mr Clegane was memorable though. She felt a twinge of sympathy for anyone considered so ugly that people couldn’t look at them.

“Why does your dad keep employing him then?”

“Clegane is the best sailor around. He can navigate the waters around White Harbor and Seal Rock better than anyone else.” Wylla shrugged expressively. “He also happens to be a dick. And he has a messed-up face.”

“Fine, fine,” said Sansa, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll deal with him.”

Sansa had no more patience for difficult men, even after the pang of sympathy. She had lost too much recently to pander to anyone’s ego.

“Are you sure?” Wylla said sceptically. “I don’t want to throw you in the deep end.”

Sansa was spoiling for a fight.

Not wanting to explain that to Wylla, she said instead, “I’m happy with a challenge.”

Sansa needed something dramatic to happen. Anything to take her mind off spending every night alone and lonely in her new house. She hadn’t been able to face going home to see her family after the disastrous way her attempt at a Master’s degree had ended. She’d applied indiscriminately for jobs in most of the larger Northern towns and taken the first one that offered her a full-time position.

So here she found herself, an employee of Wyman Manderly’s vast shipping and docking empire, living on her own in a little white slate company house in White Harbor. She worked in dock administration, which involved a startling array of tasks but kept her busy and productive. During the day.

She knew her family and friends worried about her. She always got messages with offers to talk things over. Her parents even wanted her to move back to Winterfell and live at home for a while. Margaery sent regular ‘care packages’ of new and sometimes shocking Piquant Rose products. Robb and Jon offered to ‘sort Petyr out’. Arya had penned an elaborate assassination plan until Sansa had found out and put a stop to it. As it was, Professor Baelish’s social media accounts had all been hacked and every single one of his photos replaced with pornographic images of erect penises. Very small erect penises. Everyone suspected the tech-savvy duo of Bran and Rickon, though they wouldn’t admit to anything.

But Sansa was an adult in her mid-twenties now and she wanted to make her own way. Lick her wounds in peace. Without any assassinations.

“Are you okay, Sansa? You’ve crumbled up those shipping manifests.”

Sansa was also thoroughly sick of people asking her if she felt okay.

Wylla didn’t know about her recent history though.

Sansa forced a smile and smoothed out the papers. “Yes of course,” she said lightly. “In which part of the dock do I find Mr Clegane?”

***

White Harbor was permanently windy, sharp gusts straight from the middle of the Shivering Sea. The wind always twisted and knifed through the narrow lanes of white slate houses in the ancient area of the city nearest the docks. Her own house was only a fifteen-minute walk from here.

This evening marked her first time alone out on the actual docks. She’d been in the job for a month now and most of that had been spent doing indoor administration and training. Any of the hands-on tasks had been with a ‘work buddy’.

She should have tied her hair back. It had gotten long and unruly as she had not been bothered to get it trimmed. Sansa spat out her mouthful of hair as politely as possible, and ducked behind one of the dock buildings to push it all off her face in relative calm. Her hair was a metaphor for her life. Disordered. Unkempt. Needed a wash. Had split ends.

Sansa braced herself and continued her dock walk. Her clothing flapped in the wind. At least she had kept her decent Northern clothing even though she’d intended to stay in the South for forever.

The North represented her failure, her great demise, but at least she found herself dressed for it. 

Sansa sighed. This brooding was getting intense. If she didn’t get a hold of herself, she’d doubtless start writing tortured poetry and dressing only in black.

She passed a group of giggling young women. One wore a maiden’s cloak and a tiara, and the others all had flower crowns in various stages of disrepair. A hen’s night then.

“We still need a boat ride around Seal Rock. It’s supposed to bring good luck to the bride.” One of the flower crown wearers stopped laughing long enough to scowl ferociously in the direction of the boats as she spoke.

Another flower crown wearer made a face. “Not if we have to go with anyone like that man who shouted at us. His face made me sick, and that was before he started getting angry.”

“Do you think he’s married?” said the bride, twitching her green cloak around her.

The Stark family maiden cloak of dove grey, embroidered with their house sigil, lived in her parent’s wardrobe. Most brides in modern times wore a maiden’s cloak of their favourite colour, but Sansa had always known she would wear her traditional family garment.

Not that she’d ever get married.

Sansa huffed, causing the hen's party members to shoot her alarmed looks. She tried not to be jealous over a strangers upcoming wedding. It wasn’t the bride’s fault Sansa had messed up her own life.

“I can’t imagine so. Imagine seeing that face in bed.” The first flower crown scrunched up her nose at the bride, apparently deciding Sansa was not a threat and therefore safe to ignore.

Despite herself, Sansa felt awful for this Mr Clegane. As upset as she was about the smouldering ruins of her life, it came as a timely reminder that some people had so much worse. She’d probably be grumpy too if people constantly made horrible comments about her looks.

“He had a nice body though.” The third flower crown had obtained donuts from somewhere and was eating them, not sharing with the rest of the party. Her attitude strongly reminded Sansa of Arya, and she repressed a smile.

Second flower crown eyed the donuts hungrily. “I wasn’t looking at his body! I couldn’t look away from his melted face.”

Mr Clegane was starting to sound like an overblown pantomime villain. No person could be that bad. Wylla would surely have mentioned if he had a propensity to do anything illegal, or if Sansa faced any actual danger from the man.

The chattering of the hen's party faded into the howling of the wind as she navigated further into the docks. They were quiet in the early evening, the light slowly fading to dusk. She’d be able to go home after this last task for the day, open a can of Soup for One for dinner and read a book in deathly silence until it was time to sleep.

She found herself brooding again. There was a Dothraki takeout place on the way home. She would grab something nice from there for dinner as a treat. Eat her feelings.

Slightly cheered up by the thought of hot roasted meat and delicious flatbreads for dinner, Sansa checked the name on her sheet. _Stranger_. Who gave their boat such a blasphemous name?

She strode onward, resolved to be better than all the people who judged Mr Clegane on his appearance. To understand why he might be a little socially awkward and grouchy. To be professional yet compassionate. And if he truly that awful, perhaps give him a well-deserved dressing down.

She found the boat finally, in the mooring furthest from the principal dock buildings.

She didn’t know much about boats, but _Stranger_ was sturdy and plain with a painted black trim. It appeared about the size of the tugboats that zipped around the harbor, but with a roomy looking cabin. Sansa wondered if Mr Clegane lived on the boat.

The man himself appeared as she hovered awkwardly beside it, trying to work out the best way to ‘knock on the door’ of a boat. A massive hulking figure stamped across the deck to stare rudely at her. She stared back.

Mr Clegane was younger than she had been expecting, perhaps only ten or fifteen years older than her. As expected, he looked horribly disfigured, half of his face a twisted mess of ugly burn scarring. His long dark hair flopped forward, partially obscuring his injuries. The other half was handsome though, and he had the physique of the Warrior himself.

He was nothing like as unattractive as she’d been expecting. Quite the opposite, in fact.

A lengthy pause settled heavily on the dock as they stared at each other. His eyes widened briefly as he looked her up and down, before a ferocious scowl took over his face.

“Fuck off,” he snarled at her. “I’m not up for hire for your fucking hen’s night. Go and get drunk and fuck your strippers somewhere else.”

Sansa stood rooted to the spot, still staring at him.

She’d sworn off men, and yet here she was ogling a foul tempered boat captain.

She had lost her mind.

Sansa shook her birds’ nest of hair out of her face and smoothed her expression to professional blankness. She riffled through the papers secured in her folder as she spoke, grateful that Wylla had stapled and hole punched them to withstand the stiff breeze. The Manderly Corporation really needed to adopt electronic paperwork in conditions like this. “I afraid I can’t do that, Mr Clegane.”

He vaulted over the edge of his boat and onto the dock beside her, snarling like a ferocious guard dog defending its territory. “I told you to fuck off.”

Sansa didn’t allow her facial expression to change as she stood her ground. “I’m here to sign you in and get some details. I also work for the Manderly family.”

That gave him some pause. “You lost a bet?”

She stared at him unblinkingly. “I’m doing my job.”

“They hazing you then? Sending you after the big ugly fucker?”

Mr Clegane was obnoxious, but oddly Sansa didn’t feel threatened. He was certainly huge, but he wasn’t trying to physically intimidate her by getting into her personal space. He reminded her of an enormous dog, barking and snarling to make an intruder go away.

She located the correct part of the paperwork and showed it to him. “It’s very straightforward, you just need to log the details of the tasks you’ve done today, with times and nautical locations.”

“Fucking bureaucracy. I never had to do this before.”

Sansa shrugged. “The Manderly Corporation is expanding their administrative services. That’s why I got my job with them.”

“You don’t look like one of the shrieking harpies over in administration. Is this some kind of fucking audit?”

Describing her colleagues as shrieking harpies seemed a touch unfair, though yesterday Alysanne shouted at the coffee delivery person who delivered her a caramel iced coffee rather than a butterscotch iced coffee.

Regardless, despite her best intentions, Mr Clegane was getting on her nerves. Sansa gritted her teeth. “I don’t know what a member of the administrative team is supposed to look like, Mr Clegane, but I’m just doing my job.”

He looked her up and down again, as rudely as the first time, then clicked his fingers like he’d figured something out. “You fucked the wrong teacher and they kicked you out of modelling school and into the real world?”

Well, that was just offensive. Who even said something like that?

Sansa lost her temper. “I refused to give my thesis supervisor oral sex, so I had to leave university because he blackballed me with the faculty and now I’m working here at the docks,” she said baldly, with barely a tremor to her voice. “Now please sign and correctly fill in the paperwork, Mr Clegane.”

She stepped right up to him and shoved the paperwork in his face.

He blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction.

He huffed a sigh and seemed to deflate. “Aye, give it here, girl.”

He snatched the pen she offered him and sat down on the deck and started scrawling on the sheets.

Sansa took a deep breath to calm herself. She’d managed to both get provoked into losing her cool and telling a stranger something deeply personal. An angry, thoroughly unpleasant stranger.

Maybe she also needed to call past the Braavosi gelato shop on the way home.

She looked back at the boat. The cabin had a small window, and inside the window sat a kitten. It was a one-eyed brown and black tabby, with shaved fur on its shoulder, with stiches sealing up a wound.

She sat heavily down beside Mr Clegane. He glanced at her, looking startled, but then continued filling in the sheets.

“I didn’t know cats could live on boats,” she said.

Mr Clegane hummed and continued to write as he spoke. “Some worthless cunts dumped her into the harbor. I jumped in and fished her out, took her to the vet to get fixed up. Living on a boat might not be much of a life, but at least she’s fucking safe with me.”

Sansa and the cat regarded each other, the salt-stained glass between them. “What’s her name?”

“The Smith,” said Mr Clegane.

Sansa laughed, his response taking her by surprise. “Do you usually name things after the gods?” she asked.

“Best fucking use for them. The Smith is a tough little fucker, seemed a fitting name for her.”

The Smith yawned and stretched, resting her chin on her folded paws to sleep.

Sansa looked back at Mr Clegane, still industriously writing. It was then she noticed his hands. They were huge, with painful looking chilblains evident on his fingers.

She’d had chilblains on her hands once, when she’d played in the snow in the Godswood with her siblings, and had forgotten to wear gloves. Chilblains had been awful, the skin on her hands feeling too tight, every move painful.

“Do you not have gloves?” she blurted. “It must be freezing out on the water.”

Mr Clegane looked startled again, and glanced down at his hands and back at her. “Can’t get any gloves to fucking fit,” he said gruffly.

He signed the sheet finally and handed it to her. They both stood up and Sansa skimmed what he’d written. It seemed in order, though she personally wouldn’t have used the f-word as a descriptor on a work item. Or at all.

He grunted when she bade him goodnight and said she’d see him tomorrow with more paperwork. Apparently they’d made progress.

He certainly appeared to be a complicated man. A rude, angry, handsome, complicated man with a kitten he’d rescued.

She couldn’t get the image of Mr Clegane’s poor painful hands out of her head as she walked back through the docks to drop the sheets into the office.

She thought about how unpleasant he was while she waited for her Dothraki takeout. At least, unpleasant until she’d blurted out about Petyr. Then he’d calmed down and been relatively reasonable.

Sansa considered how unexpectedly attractive he’d been while she stared at the gelato choices. She chose an extra-large tub of lemon flavour.

She was back to thinking about his hands as she opened the front door of her house, silent and still until she set her food down on the table.

Sansa wrapped a chunk of roast lamb in a portion of flatbread and dipped the end into a bowl of spiced humous. It took no time really to knit a glove. She could do one per evening if she put her mind to it. Gloves would make his life a little bit easier. Nicer. Warmer.

She would knit him some basic gloves and say they were from the company.

She knew she had the perfect yarn in her stash, a nice worsted weight yarn from sheep grazed in the Ghiscari reclaimed lands. It was even a natural black, a colour she wouldn’t often buy but the story of slowly reclaiming the lands of Ghis, which were salted and ruined by the ancient Valyrians millennia ago, had charmed her. Mr Clegane seemed like a man who would prefer black gloves.

After dinner she sat in bed with the tub of gelato, staring at a glove pattern, pencil in her free hand. The yarn and needles placed on her bedside table.

She made some changes to the pattern, enlarging it for Mr Clegane’s sizable hands. It was a basic pattern, though it had cables along the back of the hand. She might have been burned by cabling for a non-family member when she made the Harry Sweater, but she couldn’t bring herself to knit anything too plain. She had standards. Besides, this was not a boyfriend sweater. This was gloves for a salty sea captain. Entirely different.

***

The silence went on a little too long.

The Smith was out on _Stranger_ ’s deck, sunning herself and watching Sansa through her one eye. Mr Clegane stood beside her on the dock, staring at the items Sansa had just handed him.

“Would you like to try them on?” she said, trying to sound professional.

He looked at her, down at the gloves again then back at her. His expression was unreadable. “Aye,” he said in clipped tones.

Mr Clegane pulled a glove onto each hand and examined them. The gloves looked warm and soft, and most importantly like they fit him perfectly.

They hadn’t taken her long to knit, as she’d predicted. No big deal.

“Manderly providing all his employees with custom hand-knitted gloves now?” he asked with the ghost of a smile.

“Apparently so,” she replied tartly.

Perhaps her cover story for giving him the gloves was a little shaky. She couldn’t imagine Mr Clegane checking it though. That would involve voluntarily talking with his employer.

“It’s a fucking useful skill, knitting. I should learn.” He ran a fingertip over the cabling. Perfectly executed, if she did say so herself.

“You could easily knit yourself a scarf,” Sansa said. “Just in case Mr Manderly doesn’t provide his employees with custom hand-knitted scarves.”

Mr Clegane gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like it wanted to be a laugh. “Aye, I should at that.”

“I have some needles and yarn you might use, if you like. I can show you the basic stitches.”

“You’re a knitter. What a coincidence,” he said, his voice as dry as Petyr Baelish’s latest bestselling book.

“Life is full of coincidences, Mr Clegane,” Sansa said, handing him that day’s paperwork.

He rolled his eyes. “Call me Sandor,” he said.


	5. The Sandor Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was an unexpectedly long break between chapters! I did get distracted working on some other SanSan stories, so feel free to check those out too 😁
> 
> [The Sandor Hat](http://www.viridian-hue.com/blog/2011/14/a-tweed-hat)

One month later:

The hat went well with the gloves.

She had had enough special Ghiscari yarn left; it would have been silly not to make a hat to match them. Besides, on her daily trips to get Sandor’s signature and trip logs, she had yet to see him wear a hat and his ears must get cold.

“Manderly must really fucking care for his employees,” Sandor said in the driest of tones when she presented him with the hat, which was a basic style in a chunky rib to showcase the beautiful yarn. He put it on straight away and then asked if she wanted to see the scarf he had been working on. He claimed he had needed something to focus on during quiet nights on his boat, and a scarf was a suitable beginners project.

The little cabin on the boat was just big enough to house the boat wheel, navigation equipment, radio, some benches, and storage space. There was a hatch in the floor that must lead down to Sandor’s sleeping area, since she knew he didn’t keep accommodation on the land. His whole life was on the boat, and he didn’t have a phone or any way to communicate with the outside world aside from the marine radio.

The Smith was sitting by the window, on the half-finished scarf. The kitten chirped happily when she saw Sandor.

“Piss off, cat,” Sandor said with deep affection in his voice. He scooped up The Smith and set her on his shoulder.

The Smith settled herself over his neck like a scarf, delicately licking a black and brown striped paw when she’d done so.

“I don’t think she wants a knitted version to replace her,” said Sansa, stretching up to give The Smith a pat.

“My knitting is shit,” Sandor said as he handed her the unfinished project.

The first few rows were a touch wobbly, but after that it looked good. Sansa had recommended he stick with the basic garter stitch, but had given him two shades of blue yarn so he could try stripes for added interest.

“It looks great,” she said with complete truth. “It’ll look good when you wear it, if The Smith doesn’t claim it for a bed.”

The Smith blinked her one eye at Sansa, who could hear the kitten purring.

Sandor hummed and reached up with one huge hand to pat The Smith. “You want to head out for a ride?” he said abruptly. “Road test the hat?”

Sansa had spent the last month trying not to enjoy seeing Sandor and The Smith daily, even though it was always the highlight of her workday. Their relationship had been relatively professional thus far, and that was where Sansa was theoretically trying to keep it, but chatting to him made going home to her cold empty house afterwards seem less depressing.

If she was being honest with herself, she might have admitted that she possibly had a little crush on the surly boat captain.

Just a small crush.

Totally minor.

Maybe she wanted to kiss him too.

Perhaps she sometimes also got the impression he might return the feelings.

“A boat ride?” She repeated his words, taken aback at the sudden veering of whatever their burgeoning relationship was towards wherever it might be heading.

Sandor snorted. “That’s the vehicle we are on, a boat. At sea.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to, but there are a couple of hours of daylight left, and you told me getting my paperwork was the last thing you do each workday.”

“I’d love to,” said Sansa hurriedly.

Her vague intention to keep things safely professional crumbled in the face of the slightest provocation.

Sandor wore his new hat as they chugged into the choppy harbour. The wind whipped through Sansa’s hair, though one too many encounters with White Harbor weather had prompted her to braid it tightly each day. 

Sansa had considered that she was acclimatising to the icy sharp wind of White Harbor, but this boat ride was proving her wrong.

Sandor opened the windows to the cabin so they could still theoretically speak as he deftly steered _Stranger_ around Seal Rock. Sansa watched the goings on from her position at the railings. She envied The Smith, snugly inside the cabin and smugly watching through the window, though the view would not have been nearly as good.

Northern fur seals frolicked around the rock, which was more akin to a small island at the entrance to the harbour. They splashed and dived, barking at each other like bickering siblings. Sansa laughed in delight at their antics.

Here, on the sea, with present company, Sansa felt closer to peace with what her life had become than she had since the incident with Professor Baelish. The loss of the direction she had started to take in her life stung like an open wound still, but these new experiences were a balm for that.

“You’d enjoy when the pups are around,” said Sandor, breaking into their companionable silence. “They get fluffy as fuck before they shed into their adult coats.”

Sansa looked over her shoulder to grin at him. “Are you telling me you find them cute?”

He snorted. “I didn’t bloody say that. Just said they were fluffy.”

“Next you’ll be admitting that you find The Smith cute as well.”

“The Smith is a fucking badass, surviving those cunts who threw her in the freezing water.”

Sansa hummed in agreement and turned her attention back to the seals. “I never thought about how much fun your job must be. You get to come out here every day. So much better than being stuck inside an office.”

“I get to sail out here every day with a bunch of cunts. Tourist cunts, council cunts, corporate cunts,” Sandor grumbled. “Anyway, I thought you were doing your Master’s degree before you came here? A fucking clever woman like you being a grunt for Manderly seems like a downgrade.”

Sansa was a touch dismayed that Sandor obviously had not forgotten what she had said to him about her past on the day they met. Though she supposed he wouldn’t encounter many strange, wild-eyed red heads blurting out about indecent proposals within five minutes of meeting him.

“Yes I was working on my Master’s degree,” she replied shortly. “But no one would supervise me after what happened.”

More accurately, after it became clear that Professor Baelish had the vast majority of potential supervisors in his pocket and she faced rejection after rejection, she’d stopped looking for other options and had fled North.

“So you’re going to spend the rest of your life filing papers, dealing with those harpies in the office and getting my signature every day?”

“I can think of worse things than visiting you every day,” she replied tartly.

Sansa did not want to admit that seeing him was the highlight of each day, but Sandor gave her a long, dubious stare. “Aye,” he said finally.

“What about you?” she asked. “Was being a boat captain what you wanted with your life?”

“Fell into it when I worked security for some rich fucks who all had yachts. Decided I liked being out on the sea better than I did dealing with their shit, so I saved up and bought _Stranger_. Came up North, Manderly hired me on as an ‘independent consultant’ or some made up bullshit job title and here we are.”

Sansa was pleased for him that he was doing what he wanted. She didn’t want to ask about his scars, but they must have severely limited his options in life. “So you have a boat and a cat, and you are learning to knit. Sounds good to me.”

The boat was now no longer moving forward, instead bobbing in the gentle waves near Seal Rock. Sandor came over and leaned on the rail beside her. He looked lovely and warm in his new hat, and he also wore the gloves she had made him a month ago. “Might be that I’m fucking greedy, and want more than that.”

Sansa had almost forgotten what it was like to really want a man, but with Sandor being so close and so bold, her tongue felt heavy and her knees weak with desire. “Maybe I want more than just filing paperwork too,” she said slowly.

He hummed and leaned towards her. She moved the rest of the way, pressing her lips against his. Kissing him was bristly, and she could feel the scars on half of his lips, but it was a lovely kiss. His gloved hand rested lightly on her shoulder, thumb gently stroking down her neck.

She deepened the kiss and he hummed in the back of his throat in response.

Of all the things she expected from today, it was not kissing Sandor. She wouldn’t change it for the world though. The careful way he held her close, the fact he tasted faintly of peppermint.

They both stepped back to catch their breath when a particularly robust swell hit the boat and destabilised them.

“We’ve got an audience,” he rasped, glancing over the side.

All the seals were watching them.

Sansa grinned and gave them a wave.

***

The following day Sansa walked home on feet lighter than air. Another heated kiss at the docks made her legs wobbly.

She considered her next knitting project as she walked. They were past pretending about corporate gifts, but she bet Sandor would appreciate a lovely thick pair of knitted socks for the boat.

Or…

Sansa stopped in the street.

A sweater.

Could she make another sweater? Would she be cursing their fledgling relationship by doing so?

Maybe socks next at least, whilst she considered the Sweater Problem. Or even some knitted things for his cabin. She wondered if Sandor had a teapot. Everyone liked cosies. Or perhaps a knitted mop-head, or dishcloths, those might be useful in his personal area on the lower level of the boat.

Sansa checked her mailbox when she made it to her little house, puffing from the steep walk up the hill from the harbour. An old-fashioned girl at heart, though perhaps not as old-fashioned as the phoneless Sandor Clegane, she preferred actual mail for things like bills, rather than email. Margaery still sent ‘care packages’ too, as did her mother, though the contents of the respective parcels were wildly different. Sansa posted them both knitted goods in return. Margaery liked the vegetable-themed dildo cosies, apparently, especially the large eggplant one. Catelyn got a regular tea cosy, after Sansa checked each parcel several times to make sure the correct knitted item was going to the right woman.

Today’s mail was neither a sex toy nor a jar of home-made hot chocolate powder or fruit preserves. It was a letter on University of Dorne letterhead, from Professor Oberyn Martell. She’d heard of him, he was one of the few historians in Westeros who was willing to publicly disagree with Professor Baelish. If she hadn’t been so discouraged in the aftermath of the Baelish Incident, she’d have considered approaching Professor Martell.

She skimmed the letter, then sat heavily on one of the mismatched elderly wooden chairs at her tiny kitchen table.

**I have heard of your regrettable academic situation** , the letter read after the usual salutations and introductions. **As newly appointed head of the History Department at the University of Sunspear I wish to offer you my services as your supervisor for your Master’s thesis. I invite you to contact me at your earliest convenience if you wish to accept my offer, and/or come to Dorne to visit our facilities.**

The letter went on to list the benefits of the University, but Sansa spent several minutes rereading the paragraph where she was offered the chance to finish her thesis.

There was also a handwritten postscript below Professor Martell’s signature: **Miss Stark, both myself and my daughter Sarella are most eager to discuss the situation in which you found yourself in Kings Landing.**

Did she even want to finish it at this stage? She certainly wanted to prove to Professor Baelish that he couldn’t ruin her life. And what exactly did the postscript mean with regard to that?

She had started again though, found a job and a home. And a Sandor, whatever their relationship was slowly becoming.

***

The following day, late afternoon, she took Sandor his daily paperwork to complete.

“I had a letter from Dorne,” she blurted whilst Sandor was signing with one hand and fending off The Smith, who was trying to attack his pen, with the other.

Sandor gave her a side eye. “Well good for you,” he said blandly, looking somewhat flushed from the kisses they had just exchanged in greeting. “Was it a bill or a request for a charity donation?”

“No, they were offering me a place to finish my post-grad work.”

He tapped his pen on the paper thoughtfully. The Smith took that as an opportunity and leapt forward, clawing frantically at both the pen and the paper.

“Fuck off beastie,” said Sandor, scooping up the kitten and cradling her against his chest. He looked back at Sansa. “You’d have to move to Dorne?”

Sansa tried not to envy The Smith, who looked very happy curled against Sandor’s strong body. “Yes.”

“But you’d be able to finish what that cunt who fucked with you ruined.”

“Yes.”

“You going to go?”

“Well.” She looked at him through her eyelashes. “I do like White Harbor. I’ve started to make a new life here. A new job. New, um, friends.”

Her voice wavered on the word ‘friends’ but she didn’t know what else to call what they had.

“You should go, then,” Sandor said definitively.

Sansa blinked. Had their heated kisses really meant nothing to him?

“I see,” Sansa said softly, trying not to sound crestfallen. They hadn’t discussed the nature of their relationship after all. Just exchanged kisses.

He huffed a sigh, then gently put the index finger of his free hand under her chin and tilted her face towards him. “White Harbor isn’t going anywhere. Your… friends aren’t going anywhere. There’s no fucking hurry. Some things just need to take time.”

He shifted his hand and cupped her cheek. Sansa’s heart raced as she moved to kiss him.

“I’d miss you too much,” she whispered against his lips. “I’d need at least six months in Dorne to finish my thesis off.”

“The Smith and I could sail down to visit Dorne after you are settled there,” he said before kissing her again. “Manderly owes me a fuck load of leave because I never take any.”

Sansa ran her fingertips down the scarred side of his face. “Would you consider getting a phone so we can talk sometime?”

He rolled his eyes. “For you, I’d even get a smart phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will be heating up in Dorne, next chapter....


	6. The Sandor Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely reader! I hope this chapter gives you a mid-week boost of happiness! 😁
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @orangetabbywrites and I also hang out on the SanSan discord along with lots of other members of the SanSan family: https://discord.gg/QVYDrx7
> 
> [The Sandor Sweater](https://www.garnstudio.com/pattern.php?id=7244&cid=17)

**Sansa [3.31pm]: have you worked out the texting thing yet?** **😊**

**Sansa [5.01pm]: Okay I’ll take that as a no and phone you when I get home instead**

***

**Sansa [1.13pm]: you can do it! This way we can share photos and stuff.**

**Sansa [1.42pm]: I mean, I know talking is nicer. It took me ages to work out texting too.**

**Sansa [2.15pm]: you’ve only had the new phone for what, two weeks?** **😂**

**Sansa [3.55pm]: Alright I’ll phone when I get home. I just had another big meeting with Oberyn and Sarella about the Baelish investigation.**

***

**Sansa [10.01am]: [img325.jpg]**

**Sansa [10.01am]: it’s so hot here in Dorne! What do you think of my new bikini?** **😋**

**Sansa [11.15am]: Sandor?**

**Sansa [11.16am]: I’ll phone you later and we can go through the texting lesson again**

***

**Sandor [2.33pm]: [img001.jpg]**

**Sandor [2.34pm]: The Smith likes to sleep in the sun.**

**Sansa [2.35pm]: OMG she is the cutest**

**Sansa [2.36pm]: Nice to hear from you during the day. I told you texting was easy. Even I can do it.**

**Sandor [2.39pm]: Not the same as hearing your voice.**

**Sansa [2.40pm]: I like talking to you too, but getting a cute photo of The Smith makes up for it. I can’t believe it’s been a month since I’ve seen you both. Things have progressed here a lot, I’ll tell you on our call tonight.**

***

**Sandor [4.58pm]: had to take a bunch of tourist cunts around Seal Rock today**

**Sandor [4.59pm]: reminded me of when I took you there**

**Sandor [4.59pm]: not the cunts. The seals.**

**Sansa [5.00pm]: awww xoxoxo**

***

**Sandor [9.46am]: [img058.jpg]**

**Sandor [9.47am]: The Smith misses you**

**Sansa [10.02am]: *The Smith* misses me does she?! She’s growing so fast. I love getting these daily photos of her.**

**Sandor [10.03am]: I finalised the paperwork for my leave today. We’ll start the journey down the coast at the end of next week.**

**Sansa [10.04am]: omg that’s amazing. I miss you both.** **😙**

***

**Sansa [8.17pm]: [img357.jpg]**

**Sansa [8.17pm]: pool party at the Water Gardens!**

**Sandor [8.18pm]: you are hot as fuck**

**Sansa [8.19pm]: xxxooo**

***

**Sandor [6.23pm]: [img098.jpg)**

**Sandor [6.23pm]: finished it today. The Smith likes it.**

**Sansa [6.24pm]: look how cute she is wearing your scarf!**

**Sansa [6.24pm]: you did great with that. You’ll need to think of a new knitting project. I’ve been knitting too but it’s a secret!**

**Sandor [6.25pm]: Aye**

***

**Sandor [8.03am]: [img125.jpg]**

**Sandor [8.04am]: leaving White Harbor. The Smith has been chirping at the seagulls.**

**Sansa [8.05am]: I’m on my way to another briefing with Sarella. We can chat after if you have mobile reception. I can’t wait to see you and The Smith.**

***

**Sansa [9.45pm]: I forgot to mention when we talked tonight, but I’m on the Pill and clean and everything like that.**

**Sandor [9.46pm]: I’m not sailing down to Dorne with the expectation that we have to fuck. No hurry, no pressure.**

**Sansa [9.47pm]: I know. I still wish I’d stayed the night with you before I left White Harbor though. I’ll forward you my maesters cert email showing that I’m clean**

**Sandor [9.47pm]: I have a printed copy of mine. I’ll take a photo.**

**Sandor [9.55pm]: [img151.jpg]**

**Sansa [9.55pm]: was that the first time you’ve taken a photo with your new phone that’s not of The Smith? Be honest!**

**Sandor [9.56pm]: no**

**Sandor [9.56pm]: yes**

**Sansa [9.57pm]: I knew it! Hey this maesters report has your full name. You never told me your middle name was Aloysius.**

**Sandor [9.58pm]: Aye, theres a fucking reason I don’t tell people my middle name. It’s a cunt name.**

**Sansa [9.59pm]: aww I think it’s a cute name**

**Sandor [9.59pm]: [img152.jpg]**

**Sansa [10.00pm]: don’t send me pictures of your cat to distract me!**

**Sansa [10.00pm]: SHE IS SUPER CUTE THOUGH**

**Sansa [10.00pm]: PLS GIVE HER A PAT FROM ME**

***

**Sansa [1.51pm]: Sarella wants to interview me on camera about Prof Baelish. I said yes, though I’m nervous about it. Their expose of his behaviour is going to be run on the major news network here.**

**Sandor [1.52pm]: I’ll support you whatever you want to do.**

**Sansa [1.52pm]: thanks** **😙**

**Sansa [3.01pm]: I told my family that I agreed to do the interview and they were super supportive too**

**Sansa [3.02pm]: I can’t wait to see you and The Smith in only a couple of days**

***

Blinking under the bright lights in the interview room, Sansa stroked the sweater she had almost finished knitting for Sandor. She’d taken to carrying her knitting bag around with her, working on her project whenever she had a few moments free.

Was it too soon to make Sandor a sweater?

Was she cursing their relationship?

She hoped not.

As much as Sansa wanted to be cautious, she couldn’t help but feel the rightness of the project.

Was this even… love?

She had come a long way from the girl who considered herself in love with Joffrey, and the young woman who also thought she loved Harry. The feelings she had for Sandor were deeply affectionate, but calmer and less blinding than she’d experienced with her previous boyfriends. She and Sandor had been long distance for months now, could she love someone in that circumstance? Or was she simply infatuated, with absence making her heart grow fonder?

Sansa frowned at a slightly uneven stitch on the bottom rib. The Sandor sweater was mostly worked in the round, an easy pattern that she barely had to pay attention to until the neck area. It had raglan sleeves and a shawl collar, and she had found a special local yarn for it, from the Dornish blackbelly breed of sheep. Those sheep grew hair instead of wool, and artisans spun it into a lovely worsted weight yarn, and in this case was a natural pale grey that reminded her of Sandor’s eyes.

Knitting was an unusual hobby for the tropical climate of Dorne, but everyone at Sunspear University seemed to be sufficiently laid back that people were interested rather than judgemental about it. After a few too many glasses of Dornish wine at one department social evening, Sansa had told Oberyn’s partner Ellaria about the dildo cosies she’d knitted for Margaery, and so she now had a pile of orders to make after she finished the Sandor Sweater.

Sarella tapped their pen against their lips, a habit Sansa had learned over her time in Dorne that they indulged in when politely impatient. “Are you comfortable enough to start?” they asked delicately.

Sansa grimaced apologetically. Apparently she’d just been sitting there staring at the sweater and mentally wool-gathering. Ignoring the various other people in the room.

She nodded then, and tucked her knitting away in the bag. “Yes, sorry. It seems ridiculous that I’m so nervous about this. It’s not like anything actually happened apart from one stupid date and a proposition. And then having to leave the city. Not like some of those other poor girls.”

Sarella Sand, an investigative journalist, had been working on an expose of Professor Baelish for about a year. Sunspear University had become something of a refuge for women targeted by him, driven largely by the horror of Oberyn Martell over Baelish’s thus far unchecked predatory behaviour. It turned out Sansa had gotten off very lightly indeed.

“You’re allowed to feel what you feel, Sansa.” Sarella’s sister Tyene chimed in from behind the camera. “And it’s okay to be upset about how he messed up your life.”

Another sister, Nymeria, hummed in agreement and came over to give Sansa’s face a final dusting of powder. “You should never compare yourself to others. We all have our burdens to bear.”

Sansa slid her knitting bag under her chair when Nymeria had finished. Sandor was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, so she would have to try and finish the sweater tonight.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from seeing Sandor in person. Would he want a physical relationship straight away? She certainly did. They had talked every night since she left the North, continuing the routine they had established when she’d get him to sign his work papers. She hadn’t had a sexual relationship since Harry. Now that she found herself willing to let someone into her life, she was looking forward to that intimacy.

Yet another sister, Obara, fiddled around with the lights as she spoke. “This Professor Baelish, he deserves what’s coming to him. All the young women he hurt. Disgusting.”

Sarella cleared their throat and asked, “Now, can you tell me what happened with Professor Baelish?”

Sansa told her story, answering Sarella’s questions as honestly as she could. They covered her academic work, her date with Petyr, his behaviour afterwards and the following day. Having to leave Kings Landing after her position became untenable. She kept to the facts, trying to be as dispassionate as possible.

She reminded herself that she had made a good life for herself. Professor Baelish hadn’t won.

Sansa sagged in her seat when Sarella indicated their questioning had finished, and thanked her for her time and effort over the past months.

Sansa felt wrung out, but happy she had done her part to stop any more women from being hurt. The Sand siblings asked if she’d like to go to a bar to unwind, but Sansa demurred. She had a sweater to finish.

***

Now her part in the Baelish expose was done, all of Sansa’s nervous energy had transferred itself into anticipation about seeing Sandor again.

The persistent thoughts she’d been having swirled around in her head. Would he like the sweater? Would she ruin their relationship by giving it to him? Was it a sign of their love?

Overthinking everything was making her even more nervous than she otherwise might have been.

The day after the interview, she parked her car on the waterfront and gathered up the sweater. She also took out her backpack that contained her toothbrush and a few overnight things. Just in case.

The docks at Sunspear were vastly different to White Harbor. In Dorne everyone wore far less clothing and went about their tasks clad in floaty cotton and linen rather than fur and thermals. The tropical breeze also floated around the docks warm and inviting, rather than White Harbor’s ice laden and thick gusts. Even the boats here seemed both lighter and flimsier, like they would crumple if faced with the huge oceanic swells or marauding kraken of the North.

Sansa clutched the bundle containing the sweater against her chest as she scurried through the docks to where Sandor’s message said the _Stranger_ was berthed.

It was there, sturdy and plain with its deep black trim compared to the sleeker Dornish boats. Sandor stood tall on the deck, The Smith draped around his neck, staring out over the impossibly blue ocean.

“Sandor,” she breathed as she walked towards them. Sandor turned to look at her, though he couldn’t possibly have heard her speak.

Her heart raced as she saw him again in person, after endless nights of just hearing his voice. He looked tanned and healthy, suiting the golden Dornish light as well as he did the stark and frigid North.

Sandor moved to the other edge of the boat, held out his hand and helped Sansa step aboard.

“It’s the same blue as your eyes,” he said by way of greeting, jerking his chin towards where he had been looking over the Summer Sea.

The Smith, who was considerably bigger and plumper than the last time Sansa had seen her, narrowed her eye and chirped a greeting.

Sansa shifted the parcel under her arm, shrugged off her backpack to thump onto the deck and silently stepped forward to hug Sandor. She wrapped her free arm around him, and he returned the embrace, holding her close. He was reassuringly solid and warm, and he smelled like a combination of soap and ocean spray.

Sansa wanted to stay in his embrace forever but something tapping the top of her head made her pull back. It was The Smith, who then retracted one brown and black striped arm.

“Bloody cat,” said Sandor fondly.

Sansa smiled at The Smith and reached up to scratch her striped head, between her ears.

Sandor cupped Sansa’s cheek with his rough hand when she stepped back, examining her face as if memorising it. His gaze moved restlessly over her features, drinking her in.

“It’s nice to see you,” whispered Sansa.

“It was shit not seeing you in person,” he said, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “Fucking text messages. The phone calls were okay though,” he conceded.

She smiled, then remembered the parcel under her arm. She abruptly thrust it at him, and he made a small “oof” sound as it connected with his chest.

“This is for you,” she said.

“Is Manderly giving out more corporate knitted gifts then?” he said, the unscarred corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile.

Sansa laughed. “Oh hush.”

He opened the parcel, The Smith remarkably staying in place around his neck as he did so. He held up the sweater, scrutinising it.

Suddenly he scooped The Smith up and gently placed her down on the deck. She stalked off in a huff as Sandor pulled the sweater on over his short-sleeved shirt. He looked down at himself.

“It’s fucking perfect,” Sandor said finally.

Sansa brushed some imaginary fluff from his chest and pretended to check the fit so she could touch him. She’d judged his size correctly, the fit was exact. “It’s a bit hot for sweaters here, but it’ll be good up North.”

“It’s perfect,” Sandor reiterated, then bent down to kiss her.

Sansa kissed him back with months worth of enthusiasm. She deepened the kiss almost immediately and his grip on her waist tightened as he responded in kind. He tasted of peppermint, and it warmed Sansa’s heart that he’d obviously brushed his teeth in anticipation of seeing her.

She ran her hands over his torso. The Sandor sweater felt good under her hands, complementing his firm, well-muscled body.

They broke the kiss when several dock workers started shouting friendly encouragement. Sansa looked over as one woman gave her a thumbs up and another blew her a kiss.

“Fucking crazy Dornish,” muttered Sandor.

Sansa stood on tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. “You’ll get used to it. Remind me to tell you about my new side business in dildo cosies,” she murmured into his good ear.

He dropped his hands down to her hips, holding her firmly. “Only if you show me the products that your friend sends you,” he replied.

Sansa flushed as she remembered getting tipsy one evening during one of the many University social events and admitting to Sandor over the phone afterwards about the collection she’d been amassing. She had been mortified the next day, but he had apparently found it funny.

“Can you show me the inside of the boat?” she asked quickly.

He pulled his head back and looked into her eyes. “You sure?”

Sansa grabbed a double handful of the front of his sweater, careful not to pull on the collar and destabilise the garment. “Yes, I’m very sure,” she said, her voice husky.

She ignored the distant sounds of cheering and applause from the dock workers as he took her hand, picked up her backpack for her and led her the few steps into shelter.

In the boat cabin, Sandor gave The Smith some cat food and switched the radio on to a news channel. “Otherwise she’ll get lonely,” he explained. “She’s used to staying down there with me.”

Sansa pulled him in for another kiss when he’d settled The Smith. He pushed her against the wall, pressing his big body against her. There were windows all around the cabin, and Sansa didn’t look but she suspected the dock workers were still watching.

“Downstairs,” she gasped, unsure what to call the area below the hatch.

“You want to go below with me?” he said archly, his lips brushing the skin on her throat, before he licked up the side of her neck and around the shell of her ear.

“Yes, I definitely want to go below with you,” she said in a low voice, pressing herself against him.

The hatch led down a few steps into another little cabin. Someone had cunningly designed the space with a built-in bed, storage areas, a sink and a mini kitchen. There were even bathroom facilities, what Sansa recalled was called a ‘head’, tucked away in a tiny cupboard.

Before she could more than briefly marvel at how tidy Sandor kept everything in the small space, he was kissing her. She slipped her hands underneath his sweater and shirt this time, to his bare skin and hairy torso. He moaned into her mouth at the contact, before pulling back and tugging the sweater off again. He folded the garment as Sansa jiggled impatiently on the balls of her feet, carefully placing it on what served as a kitchen bench. Sandor fleetingly placed his hand on the sweater with an air of reverence, before turning back to her.

The rest of their clothes went flying carelessly as they kissed and undressed between kisses. The erotic sensation of pressing her naked body against Sandor’s was like nothing Sansa had ever experienced. He was reassuringly solid and warm, his manhood hard against her stomach as they embraced. The gentle rocking of the boat meant he held her close, their bodies rubbing together slightly even as they stood still.

She didn’t have the time nor inclination to consider questions of love or infatuation as she urgently touched as much of his naked body as she could reach. He hissed with pleasure as she took him in hand, trying not to be too alarmed at his size. He dipped his big hand between her legs, stroking through her soaking wet folds.

“I need you,” she said urgently, breathing heavily as he slid two fingers inside of her.

He withdrew his hand, lay back on the bed and tugged her to straddle him. “Watch your head,” he murmured.

Sansa glanced up when she was in position. The bed had storage cupboards above it, but she should have enough room to move. “If I bang my head will you kiss it better?” she asked, wiggling forward and up his thighs.

He stroked his hand up her body, coming to rest on her breast. “I’ll kiss any part of you that you like,” he said, rubbing her nipple then gently pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

Sansa kissed him again then, her overstimulated arousal making her gasp and moan into the kiss. They stroked and caressed each other’s bodies, but Sansa was impatient. She needed to feel him inside her.

Sansa grasped his manhood in her hand again and lowered herself slowly onto him, unable to stifle her constant gasps of pleasure as she did so. She had never been hovering so close to an orgasm in her life, right on the cusp but not quite there.

“You feel so fucking good,” Sandor murmured, when she was fully seated.

Unable to take the desperate arousal any longer, Sansa shoved her hand down between their bodies. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out in orgasm as soon as she touched herself, grinding herself against Sandor as he gripped her hips hard.

She had never climaxed so hard from so little stimulation.

Embarrassment flooded her as soon as sanity prevailed. She opened her eyes and realised Sandor was still inside her and he was staring at her with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing the deck of the boat would open up and deposit her into the ocean. She spoke to his chest rather than his face. “That was so fast. It’s not usually so fast.”

He squeezed her thigh to get her attention and she glanced up at his face then. He had an expression she had never seen on him before, almost… soft. Loving. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped gently. “Never apologise for coming all over my cock. So fucking sexy.”

Sansa blinked. She’d expected him to find fault with her, even aside from weirdly timed orgasms. He hadn’t even yet commented on her body or the amount of pubic hair she chose to have.

His muscles bunched under her hand as he sat up then, without even glancing up to see how close he was to the looming overhead cupboards. He hooked an arm around her back before kissing her. He tugged on her hip with his free hand to get her to move herself against him as they kissed.

“That still feel good?” Sandor let go of her and leaned back on his hands. He watched her grind against him, staring at her body like it was nothing but pleasing to him.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, and it did. Arousal had thoroughly replaced the embarrassment with his kisses, and another climax built with every movement she made.

“I’m not going to take very fucking long either.” He moved one of his hands back to her skin, as if he needed that extra connection to her. He stroked his hand down the side of her breast, her stomach and her hip. “Touch yourself again, get yourself off for me. I want to watch you come that hard again.”

Another moan was pulled out of her by Sandor’s words, but she did as he requested. Sansa shamelessly chased another orgasm, concentrating of the feeling of him inside her, the grunts of pleasure he made, the slap of their flesh colliding. Even his hand on her flesh, drifting over her body as if she was something rare and precious that he needed to touch to believe.

He pulled her hard against him and kissed her as he came, groaning into her mouth at his moment of climax and then kissing her again.

She followed him shortly after, as he leaned back to give her room and avidly watched her hand move.

She flopped down to the bed and snuggled against him as they both caught their breath. The bed could barely fit them side by side, but she pressed her sweaty body against Sandor’s and he tenderly resumed his caresses of her skin and ran his fingers through her hair.

She was lightly dozing in his arms when Sandor spoke.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! It’ll start right where this one finishes 😁


	7. The Sansa Sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this little story! Thank you all for your support along the way and I hope you enjoy how I’ve finished it off.
> 
> [The Sansa Sweater](https://www.sewrella.com/simple-knit-sweater/)
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/50413488617/in/dateposted-public/)

Sandor swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his naked body taking up most of the space in the little cabin. His muscles bunched and moved as he did, and Sansa wanted to lick him. All of him. She snuggled into the bed, which smelled compellingly of Sandor and sex, and sighed happily.

She watched as he wet a cloth and wrung it out, then passed it to her. She thanked him and surreptitiously cleaned herself up with the warm, damp cloth whilst Sandor hunted in one of the little cupboards.

Sansa looked around for a washing hamper when Sandor stood up again with a bulky parcel. He opened another cupboard, retrieved a small basket, and held it out to Sansa for the cloth before sitting back beside her on the bed.

He handed her the parcel. It was light and squashy, and her heart started to beat fast.

She stared at the brown paper wrappings.

“Go on then, open it,” he said gruffly.

Sansa glanced up at his face. Despite his brusque words, he looked apprehensive, a faint blush on his unscarred cheek.

She ripped open the paper and gasped. She held the contents of the parcel up to have a better look. It was a sweater, made with a beautiful thick yarn tinted with the swirling pale blue shades of the Dornish sea. It was a simple pattern, using a chunky garter stitch with a basic rib on the bottom edge, cuffs, and neck. There were some uneven stitches and the cast-on edge was a touch wobbly, but Sansa had never seen anything so gorgeous, so perfect.

She stared at the sweater that Sandor had knitted for her, unable to speak. It was the most precious gift she could imagine, all those hours of Sandor’s time, spent making something for her to wear. She imagined him hunched over the project, The Smith sitting nearby, as he frowned at the pattern, as he knitted the garment and as he carefully sewed the seams together with his huge hands.

As the silence dragged on, Sandor shifted uncomfortably. “My knitting is a bit shit…” he began.

Sansa launched both her naked self and the sweater at him. He grunted as he caught her, and she rained kisses all over his face.

“That’s it, I love you,” she said in between kisses. “I don’t care if saying it is too soon, or it’s weird, I love you so much and you made me a sweater and I love the sweater too.”

He huffed a laugh and cupped her face in his huge hands to keep her still so he could kiss her back. “And I love you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Their kisses grew more urgent and Sansa pulled back. “Wait,” she said, “I haven’t tried it on.”

Sandor sat back on the bed and smiled a little, palming his stiffening manhood. “Go on then,” he replied, looking her up and down.

Sansa grinned and pulled the sweater over her head. It fit perfectly, and she smoothed her hands down the front. Tears sprang into her eyes. “I love it, Sandor,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you made this for me. Thank you so much.”

He glanced at the sweater she’d knitted for him, carefully folded up and safe. “Love goes both ways,” he said gruffly.

Sansa pulled the sweater off again, already beginning to sweat under it in the hot cabin. She carefully placed it with the one she had made for Sandor.

He tugged on her hand, pulling her back on the bed with him.

She kissed him, trying to pour all her love and thanks into the kiss. His hand drifted down to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. They’d hardly had any foreplay before their first time together, so desperate had Sansa been to get him inside of her. This time was slower, more tender, as they touched and stroked each other’s bodies as they kissed.

They ended up face to face on their sides, with Sansa’s topmost leg hooked over his hip, and his fingers inside of her. She was still wet from their previous coupling, and the sounds his fingers made should have been embarrassing but instead she was increasingly aroused. She loved the intimacy of it, their tongues tangling together as his fingers slipped in and out of her body.

“Do you want to fuck again, or do you want to come like this first?” he murmured, thumb brushing over her clit.

In reply, Sansa pulled away and positioned herself on elbows and knees on the bed, looking at him and smiling. She wiggled her hips invitingly.

Sandor scrambled out of the bed with a curse and stood up behind her. “That’s the most fucking inviting sight I’ve ever seen on this boat,” he said as he stroked the swell of her hip.

“Just on this boat?” asked Sansa lightly.

He slid the head of his erection through her wetness then pushed slowly inside her. They both moaned.

“That’s the most inviting sight I’ve ever seen, full stop,” he said shakily.

“Sandor,” murmured Sansa, pushing back against him, “I love you.”

“Seven Hells,” he grunted, “I love you,” then he grabbed her hips and started moving.

His thrusts were slow to start, and Sansa revelled in the tight drag of him inside her body. Her moans were shameless, and she didn’t care if anyone outside the boat heard her.

Time seemed to stand still. Sansa’s whole world focused on the feel of Sandor behind her, his grunts of pleasure as he moved inside her, the sweet burn of her impending climax.

“Harder,” she gasped, “faster. Please.”

“So polite,” Sandor muttered as he sped up his movements. “So fucking polite with my cock in you.”

His speed increased until he was pounding into her, the in-built bed shaking with the force of his movements.

Sansa arched her back and cried out at the pleasure. She relaxed into it, bracing a hand on the side of the boat, and enjoying the sensations Sandor sparked within her.

“Come again for me,” he said in between thrusts. “Come on my cock again.”

Sansa wailed as her orgasm hit, clenching hard around Sandor as her legs shook with the force of her ecstasy. With a grunt, he climaxed too, pushing himself deep inside her and gripping her hips hard.

Sansa flopped down onto the bed and Sandor crawled behind her, pulling her against his body and wrapping his arms around her. They lay in languid silence before Sandor got up to fetch another damp cloth for her. He gently wiped her clean himself this time, before crawling back into bed and kissing the back of her head.

Sansa was lightly dozing, hazy with pleasure and love, when there was a scratching and pitiful mewing at the hatch to the cabin.

“Bloody cat,” muttered Sandor, but he got out of bed again.

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?” asked Sansa, sitting up. “I don’t want The Smith to see me naked.”

Sandor snorted, but found a huge shirt in one of his drawers for her to wear. He bent down to give her a kiss before passing it to her. “Seems a shame to hide your tits from me just for the cat.”

Sansa laughed. “Do you want to make love again?”

Sandor stepped naked over to the hatch. “Aye, but I’m not as young as I was.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You’ve put my cock out of action for at least an hour or two.”

Sansa stretched her pleasantly sore body before donning the shirt.

“Though if you keep doing that it might be sooner,” said Sandor, eyeing her with interest.

The mews at the hatch intensified and Sansa grinned at Sandor. “You might want to let her in, or she might not forgive you.”

Sandor grunted an affirmative and opened the hatch, lifting The Smith down.

The Smith sat on the floor and stared unblinkingly at Sansa. Sansa tugged the shirt down further to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing any underwear, though Sandor was shamelessly naked still.

“I think she’s judging me,” said Sansa eventually, unnerved by the cat’s amber-eyed stare.

“Probably,” agreed Sandor, unmoving from the position he’d reassumed on the bed. He didn’t open his eyes.

The Smith slowly narrowed her one eye at Sansa, then abruptly turned her back and began grooming herself.

Sansa chuckled and curled back up with Sandor. He hummed and put his arm around her, pulling her back against his chest again.

“Manderly offered to set me up with some shit to do in Dorne while I’m here,” he rasped. “If you don’t mind us staying awhile.”

“Oh Sandor, that would be amazing.” Sansa rolled to face him. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair while she spoke. “Though I had planned to head back North after I finish my studies. Maybe work part time while I write a book. Oberyn and Sarella said that Petyr will have no choice but to get fired, so that means I’ll be able to publish or do further studies without being blacklisted anymore.”

Sandor gently grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers before letting her play with his hair again. “Whatever the fuck you want to do, we’ll support you.”

Sansa ran her fingernails along his scalp. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Sandor snorted, and pulled her in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sansa said, smiling at him. “And if we go North again, we can wear the sweaters we both made.”


End file.
